


a certain step towards falling in love

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Pining, Slow Burn, except not really john is just horrible at flirting, melody pond ain't here for your sexism, period typical homophobia? i don't know her, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of little fortune and even less social standing must be in want of a wealthy husband. Melody Pond, however, wants nothing of the sort.
Relationships: The Doctor/River Song, Twelfth Doctor/River Song
Comments: 311
Kudos: 271





	1. if he had not mortified mine

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I took quite a bit from the 2005 adaption because it’s so damn pretty and ain’t nobody got time to be completely faithful to the book adaption unless you’re the BBC.

_“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”_

**_-_ Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Five**

* * *

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of little fortune and even less social standing must be in want of a wealthy husband. Melody Pond, however, wants nothing of the sort. As she tells her cousin Amy often, nothing in the world but genuine love and affection could entice her into the trappings of marriage. In all her years, no man has ever managed to convince her of his devotion and consequently, she had long ago resigned herself to spinsterhood.

It won’t be so bad, she thinks, spending her days alone. At least there won’t be anyone disagreeable sitting across from her at the breakfast table and she won’t have to pretend interest in any of his boring hobbies. No, being the dull little wife of some dull little man with more money than sense is not in Melody Pond’s future. She’s much happier out on the moors with her horse, her cheeks flushed from her brisk ride as she contemplates a scandalous dip in the pond. 

Once she reaches the stables, she hands the reigns of her dear Lizzy over to the stablehand and walks slowly toward the house. She moves quietly, listening in hopes of ascertaining Aunt Tabetha’s whereabouts. If her aunt discovers she had scorned her riding habit again in favor of a pair of trousers, she’ll pitch a fit. Melody does her best to avoid confrontation with Tabetha if she can help it — her aunt always finds a way to turn any disagreement into a pointed lecture about finding a husband. 

An independent hellion all her life, Melody can think of no man whose company she prefers above that of her solitude. Which is precisely why, when she tiptoes into the house and is instantly accosted by her cousin going on about a bachelor in the neighborhood, she barely blinks.

Hanging onto her arm, Clara declares breathlessly, “A man has rented out Pandorica Manor.” Her eyes are as wide as Aunt Tabetha’s favorite china saucers and she lowers her voice, as though confiding some shocking secret. “And he’s _single_.”

Having been sitting in the parlour ever since Melody left hours ago, apparently no further along in her unsuccessful attempt at mending a single glove, Amy tosses aside her project eagerly. She leaps to her feet, rushing toward them hurriedly with skirts in hand. “What, where did you hear that?”

“Eavesdropping again, Clara?” Melody asks, hiding a smirk as she tidies her braid. Riding Lizzy always completely ruins her hair but she has plenty of time before dinner to fix it before Aunt Tabetha notices. 

“It’s the only way to discover anything of interest around here.” Clara shrugs unashamedly, grinning. “And if you want to know more, I suggest you join me.”

She disappears around the corner and Melody listens to her light footsteps on the stairs. Amy scurries after her, pausing briefly in the doorway to glance back at Melody. “Well?” She snaps her fingers impatiently. “Are you coming?”

Melody sighs. She needs to go upstairs anyway to change out of these trousers and if it’ll appease Amy… “Right behind you, dear.” 

She follows her cousins up the stairs at a more leisurely pace, turning to corner at the top only to find Amy and Clara hovering outside their father’s study with their ears pressed to the door. Moving to stand disinterestedly behind them, Melody leans against the opposite wall and folds her arms over her chest. She sniffs the air, realizes she smells distinctly of horse, and grimaces. She’ll have to get a maid to draw a bath too. _Bugger_. 

From inside the study, she can hear her Aunt Tabetha’s irritated murmur and the amused timbre of Augustus replying to her. “You simply must pay a visit to the boy,” Tabetha says, and Melody hears the frown in her voice. “Otherwise we’ll never get the chance to introduce him to our girls and one of the other silly cows in town will snatch him up instead.”

Augustus chortles, the gentle sound of a rustling newspaper accompanying him. “And so what if they do? There are plenty of other eligible young men out there and we’ve only three girls. Surely there will be a few left for them even without Rory Williams.”

Tabetha stamps her foot loudly, causing Amy and Clara to flinch briefly away from the door. “Not many of those young men have five thousand a year, Augustus!”

Clara’s jaw drops and she looks gleefully at Amy, mouthing _five thousand?_

Amy swats at her, grinning. 

“Why must you aggravate me so?” Tabetha wails. From the movement inside the room and the shadows beneath the door, Melody surmises she must be pacing to and fro, wringing her hands together. She imagines Augustus must still be attempting to read his paper, as every now and again she hears the rustle of pages. “You have no regard at all for my poor nerves.”

“That is simply untrue, pet,” he says, sounding distracted. As though he’s reading something of particular interest. “I have nothing but respect for your nerves. They’ve been my constant companions these many years.”

Tabetha makes a strangled noise of protest. “Augustus Pond, you promise me right this moment you’ll call on Rory Williams before the week is out or so help me-”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’ve already called on him.”

Tabetha splutters. “You - what - Augustus, you utter tease!”

He laughs, that full-bellied chuckle that makes everyone around him smile. In the corridor, Melody bites her lip against a grin. “Forgive me, but I couldn’t resist. And before you ask, I already invited the young man to dinner but he was called away to London at the last minute. Not to worry, though, you’ll have plenty of time to inspect him yourself at the next public ball in a fortnight. Mr. Williams has assured me he’ll be attending.”

As Tabetha presses a smacking kiss to Augustus’ cheek and begins to chatter happily, pestering her husband for details about Rory Williams’ manner and proclaiming what a lovely match he would be for one of their daughters, Melody slips away back down the corridor to her bedroom. From the sound of soft footsteps behind her, Amy and Clara have decided to follow. 

She sheds her riding clothes as Amy shuts the door, tossing them into a pile in the corner. Reaching for a dressing gown hanging in the wardrobe, she throws it on over a chemise and decides it’ll have to do until she can arrange for a bath. She peers into the mirror above her dressing table, frowning at her still-pink cheeks. 

On the other side of the room, Amy throws herself onto the bed and squeals, “Fresh meat!” She turns on her back and her ginger hair cascades over the side of the bed as she stretches languidly. “I wonder if he’s handsome?”

Clara snorts, nudging her aside to settle against the pillows at the foot of the bed. “At five thousand a year, who cares if he has a face at all?”

Melody laughs. “Charming.”

“Oi, it’s not my job to be charming.” Clara shrugs, tossing her hair. “That’s _Amelia_.” 

Amy sticks out her tongue. 

“Work on it,” Melody advises, smirking. “It’s up to one of you to marry rich. I’ll need you and your husband to support me when I’m an old maid.”

“I refuse to pity you.” Amy shakes her head, scrunching up her face in disbelief. “Every man in town is half in love with you, Mels. You could have your pick of any of them if you weren’t such a snob.”

Melody shrugs, tugging a bit too hard on her haphazard braid. “I told you, I simply can’t stomach spending the rest of my days with some stuffy, dull baron just to ensure I have plenty of fine dresses in my wardrobe. Nothing but desperate, mad love could prevail me to marry.”

“That sort of thing doesn’t exist, you ninny.” Clara blows a raspberry at her. “Just find someone rich and tolerable. Honestly, you read too much.”

Leaning forward, Melody presses a smacking kiss to her cheek. “And you don’t read enough.”

“Or at all,” Amy mutters, squinting up at her. “Don’t think she knows how.”

Clara throws a pillow at her. 

-

As the niece of Augustus and Tabetha Pond, Melody sometimes feels the burden of guilt settle over her in times like these. Standing in a crowded room and pointedly ignoring anyone who might think of asking her to dance, lest they consider it encouragement to court her, she occasionally feels rather ashamed. Her mother had died young and though the Ponds have been looking after her ever since, she suspects that Tabetha continues to do so out of a sense of obligation to her husband's late sister. She couldn’t possibly simply desire another mouth to feed. 

And so Melody often struggles to ignore the urge to marry the first eligible man she happens across, in an effort to no longer be a burden to the people who have looked after her since girlhood. As she reminds herself frequently, condemning herself to a miserable life for the sake of Tabetha Pond’s nerves will not do anyone any favors — particularly whichever poor sod Melody tricked into marrying her. 

“You wouldn’t have to _trick_ anyone into marrying you.” Amy scoffs, exchanging a skeptical glance with Jack Harkness. The three of them have sequestered themselves in a lovely corner, perfect for watching the proceedings of the public ball but out of the way of anyone they don’t wish to hear their conversation. Somewhere out on the dance floor, Clara is twirling around the Vicar’s pretty daughter. “In case you haven’t noticed, most people in any room — including this one — are in love with you.”

“You’re biased.” Melody laughs, shaking her head. “And that’s simply untrue, anyway. Half the people in this room don’t even like women at all.” 

She glances pointedly at Jack, who leers at her. “Sorry, sweetheart. I may prefer a handsome specimen with a nice beard but if you were inclined to let me ruin your reputation, I’d be a very willing participant.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Melody says fondly. “Just as all the rest of your sex.”

“Oh, come on, Mels.” Amy nudges her, grinning. “They’re not all as lecherous as Jack.”

“Hey!”

Patting Jack’s arm soothingly, Melody shakes her head. “Yes, but all the rest are utterly dull fools in my experience. So which is it to be — marrying a complete scoundrel or marrying the other type and dying of boredom on the honeymoon?”

Amy snorts delicately. “One of these days, someone is going to come along and prove you wrong, Mels. And on that day, I’m going to be there to dance around and say _I told you so_.”

Before Melody can offer any protest, the heavy doors to the dance hall open to signal a new guest has arrived. She turns to catch a glimpse and as she does, everything stops. The hall full of people stop dancing and even the music ceases to play as everyone takes in their newest arrival. A young man stands in the doorway in a very fine suit. Though his manner appears rather self-conscious and his nose is a bit too big to be considered attractive, he has a kind face and a humble manner as he glances around that Melody imagines must make him instantly endearing to everyone he meets. 

Beside him stands a dark-haired woman who appears slightly older than him. Wearing an exquisite gown the color of blood, she stands stiffly, her chin tipped up so that she looks down on everyone as she surveys the room. Her piercing blue eyes are rather unsettling as she glances around, as though one chilly glance from her might be enough to bring about an early winter. 

At her side is another man, this one tall and slender with silver hair and sharp, hawkish features. He stands with more confidence than the other man and though his eyes are almost the same color as the woman beside him, his gaze holds far more warmth. His mouth seems determined to frown and his brow is rather stern, as though he has entirely forgotten the act of smiling. Despite this and despite the gentleman being the oldest of the three new guests, Melody privately considers him the most handsome. 

“So,” she whispers, glancing at Jack. “Which of the painted peacocks is our Mr. Williams?”

“The one on the right,” he replies softly, referring to the self-conscious fellow Melody had first noticed. “And on the left is his Aunt Missy.”

Still eyeing the older gentleman as the group begins to make their way through the crowd, Melody prompts, “And the one with the cross eyebrows?”

Jack leans in conspiratorially as the three grow ever closer. “Rory’s uncle and Missy’s brother, John Smith. Apparently he’s been a widower for decades and never bothered remarrying.”

“Ah.” Melody hums in quiet understanding. “No wonder he looks so miserable, poor creature.”

With a grin, Jack murmurs, “Miserable he may be, sweet thing, but poor he most definitely is not.” At Melody’s intrigued glance, he waggles his brows. “Ten thousand a year. And he owns half of Gallifrey.”

Melody scoffs, unimpressed. “What, the miserable half?”

Rory Williams and his guests approach them at last and as they pass by, Mr. Smith glances in Melody’s direction. His eyes linger on her briefly and instead of bowing her head in deference as Amy does, Melody meets his stare unblinkingly. Something changes in his eyes as he looks at her and though it’s a brief moment out of time, hardly anything at all to outsiders, Melody feels something inside of her shift into place under his gaze. She forces a wink and John Smith finally looks away, frowning. 

Staring after him, Melody presses a hand to the bodice of her dress and forces herself to breathe. Around her, the music starts again and the merriment begins anew. Laughter echoes around the room and out of the corner of her eye, she sees the whirl of dancers once more. Jack and Amy whisper furtively to one another, ever excitable when there’s new gossip to be discussed. Melody, however, cannot seem to focus on any of it. For some reason, that inconsequential encounter with a strange man she doesn’t know has left her rattled. 

As someone who prides herself on her unshakeable nerves, it’s very nearly infuriating. 

There isn’t time to dwell on the matter before Tabetha scurries up to them, breathless and insistent as she drags Amy away by the hand. “You simply must meet Mr. Williams before everyone else starts parading their daughters in front of him. Come along, Amelia.”

With wide, panicked eyes, Amy grasps Melody’s hand at the last moment and tugs her along. “I am _not_ meeting him alone, Mels.”

Amongst her own hissed protests, Melody is certain she hears Jack laughing at her. 

She only stops complaining when they’re so close that she’s certain the new guests will hear her furious cursing. Tabetha pushes Amy forward with a smile but since her cousin has yet to release her hand, Melody is forced to follow. She feels two sets of piercing blue eyes on her, one disapproving and the other simply curious. Uneasy but refusing to show it, Melody meets the gaze first of Missy Smith and then her brother John. He looks away at once, staring out at the crowd. 

As introductions are made, she notices that up close Rory Williams is indeed a kind, humble man with little in the way of the usual arrogance of his sex. It’s also quite easy to see that he is instantly smitten with Amy, blushing as she curtsies in front of him. “Miss Pond,” he murmurs, nearly stuttering. Bless. “I don’t suppose you’d do me the honor of a dance?”

With a wide grin, Amy holds out a hand. He takes it.

As the two make their way to the dance floor, exchanging shy glances and smiling at each other, Tabetha nearly swoons. Without a thought for Melody still standing there, she hurries off at once, probably to tell anyone who will listen that Rory Williams had asked _her_ daughter for the first dance. Melody imagines she’ll be planning their nuptials before the night is over. 

The moment she’s gone, Missy slips away too, muttering haughtily under her breath about _needing_ _more wine to get through this glorified barn dance_. It’s only once she’s out of sight that Melody realizes she has been left alone with the sour-faced man who has yet to utter a single word to her. Mr. Smith stands stiffly beside her, looking anywhere but in her direction. She bites her lip, considering the idea of simply wandering off without any attempt at conversation. Despite his apparent lack of manners, he is rather distinguished looking and her aunt will happily slaughter her if she doesn’t at least try to speak with a man worth ten thousand a year. 

“How are you enjoying Leadworth so far, Mr. Smith?” She asks, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the din of happy voices and music. 

Mr. Smith doesn’t even look at her as he replies, “It’s dull and full of sheep.”

Melody blinks at him. “Well, that’s the countryside for you. Most men of your stature come here in search of this sort of quiet, you know.”

“It’s not the quiet I mind,” he says, and though his eyes scan the room with an apparent lack of interest, he still doesn’t look at her. Melody fights the urge to stand directly in front of him and thus force him to meet her eyes. “It’s the distinct feeling that any moment now someone is going to produce a piglet and make me chase it.”

Hiding a snort of laughter behind her gloved hand, Melody clears her throat. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. That doesn’t usually happen until your second visit, at least.”

It’s with triumph that she watches his gaze finally flicker in her direction, the corners of his eyes crinkling briefly in mirth. His mouth twitches and for a moment she thinks she might actually get a smile from him but he seems to remember himself at the last moment. The half-formed grin falls away and his eyes snap from her once more as the tips of his ears grow red. 

Rapidly losing her patience, Melody tries one last time. “Do you dance, Mr. Smith?”

Refusing to look at her again, he replies curtly, “Not if I can help it.”

Torn between a huff of annoyance and outright laughter at his rudeness, Melody only says, “Right then, I’ll leave you to it. Keep an eye out for swine, Mr. Smith.”

She slips away into the crowd, bewildered by the entire encounter. Amy is still whirling around Rory Williams with a happy smile and Melody has no wish to interrupt. She nicks a glass of wine off a passing tray and wanders around the party, avoiding the longing gazes of several former beaus. It’s a relief when she finally finds Jack again. He snags her wrist and drags her away to another private corner, eager for an account of Rory Williams and his uncle. 

“Well?” He demands, stealing her glass and downing half her wine. “Is he smitten with her already? What about the silver fox? Strictly into your fine specimen or have I got a chance?”

Melody laughs, swatting his arm and stealing her wine back. “Mr. Williams seems quite taken with Amy and if you believe anything Tabetha says, they’ll be married before the month is up. But I’m afraid our dear Mr. Smith is beyond us both.”

He frowns. “What, is he a eunuch?”

“Not that I’m aware.” Melody sips her wine, smirking. “But he’s terribly surly and he hates dancing and eye contact. Not our type at all, dear heart.”

Jack sighs, his broad shoulders slumping in disappointment. “For ten thousand a year, I’m pretty sure any man — or woman, for that matter — would be my type.”

“Tart,” Melody accuses, draining her wine. 

He winks at her. “And proud.”

“Did you see her? Did you actually, properly see her, John?” They both turn, startled out of their private bubble as Rory Williams and John Smith wander by their hiding spot behind the topiaries. Rory curls a hand around John’s arm, halting his stride. “Her hair. And her smile. And her _laugh_. I’ve never seen anyone so… _vibrant_. She’s like a sun.”

John grunts in acknowledgement. “Did anyone ever tell you looking at the sun’ll blind you?”

Undeterred, Rory glances at him meaningfully. “I saw you talking with her cousin. Melody, was it? She’s lovely too…”

“I suppose.” John studies the contents of his champagne flute with a frown. 

Undeterred, Rory prods, “Come now, Uncle. I know you’re getting on in years but you aren’t blind yet.” He nudges him fondly, clearly hoping for a reaction of some sort. “She seems rather your type.”

The tips of John Smith’s ears go red again and this time, the flush reaches his cheeks as well. “Don’t be ridiculous. Her hair is a mess and her nose is too wide to be pretty. Rather like yours, actually.”

Rory scowls. 

“Besides,” John says, finally looking up with a determined gleam in his eyes. “As far as I can tell she’s getting to be too old to be considered marriageable.”

“And you’re what? In your prime?” Rory scoffs, shaking his head. “You’ve got twenty years on her at least.”

“Yes, but it’s different for men. I’m not saying it should be, of course. Just an unfortunate fact of society.” John shrugs. “And I have money. Anyone will marry me.”

Rory sighs. “Has anyone punched you yet tonight?”

“No.” John smirks. “But it’s still early.”

As the two walk away still bickering, Melody glares into her empty wine glass and swallows with difficulty. That spark she’d felt the moment she met John Smith’s eyes all but forgotten now, she quickly places him in the same category as the rest of his ilk. Rich, mannerless, and an utter bore. Not even ten thousand a year could tempt her to offer him a dance ever again. 

“Prick,” Jack mutters. His warm hands cup her cheeks gently, directing Melody’s gaze up to his with a smile. “Count your blessings, sweetheart. If he liked you, then you’d have to talk to him.”

She laughs. 

“Come on.” Jack leans in and kisses her forehead. “Dance with me.”

It’s only after Jack whirls her around the floor for two dances in a row that she finally finds Amy again. To Melody’s misfortune, her cousin is surrounded by John Smith and his sister, Rory Williams, _and_ Aunt Tabetha. At the moment there isn’t a group of people Melody wants to see less. And even more unfortunately, kind-hearted Rory Williams spots her at once and waves her over with a warm smile. 

“Melody,” he says as she reluctantly joins them. “I was just telling my Aunt Missy that I met your friend Jack. Interesting character, isn’t he?”

In spite of herself, Melody smiles. It’s impossible not to. The man is just so bloody agreeable. Avoiding John Smith’s stare and ignoring the disapproving glower of his sister, Melody latches onto Amy’s arm and leans companionably into her. “ _Interesting_ is a rather tame word for Jack but I adore him.”

Beside her, Tabetha sniffs. “Such a shame he fancies his own gender. I always thought he and Melody would have made a rather sensible match.”

Rory coughs, blushing. “Oh, I hadn’t realized-”

Amy casts Melody an apologetic glance. “Mum-”

“Aunt Tabetha-”

“Of course, they could still marry if you ask me,” Tabetha goes on, apparently oblivious to Melody’s complete mortification. Around her, Missy hides a smirk behind a gloved hand and John stares pointedly at the floor. “I’m sure many men of his sort have a certain _understanding_ with their wives. And he does adore Melody. Remember those pretty verses he used to write you when you were children, dear?”

“Yes and that ended things rather definitively,” Melody interrupts quickly, forcing a smile as she glances at Rory. “I pity the first man who discovered the power of poetry in driving away love.”

Rory chuckles but John glances up suddenly. “You don’t care for poetry?” His piercing stare startles Melody briefly into silence. “Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said poetry was the food of love?”

“Well, Shakespeare could actually write poetry — unlike poor Jack.” Melody laughs, refusing to cower under his attentions as he’d probably expected. Or stick out her tongue at him like she secretly wants to. “One terrible sonnet will kill even the strongest love stone dead.”

John eyes her with bemusement, ignoring the others around them as he studies her. “Then what do you recommend?” He clears his throat, glancing away quickly with an uncertain furrow in his brow. “To show affection, I mean.”

“Dancing,” Melody answers at once, watching his gaze snap back to her. “Even if one’s partner is getting too old to be considered marriageable.”

She watches with satisfaction as the realization settles over him slowly. She had heard him talking with Rory earlier. His eyes widen but to his credit, he doesn’t attempt some fumbling apology. He only flushes a little under her gaze and nods in acknowledgement as she smiles at him, ducking her head in deference. As she excuses herself and walks away, she feels his eyes on her back until she disappears into the crowd. 


	2. willfully to misunderstand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has known from nearly the moment she met him that John Smith is a mean-spirited, dreadful human being but for some reason, he has a way of making her forget that whenever she’s around him for more than five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Amy catches a cold, Melody takes a walk, and John puts his foot in his mouth again.

_“And your defect is to hate everybody.”_

_“And yours,” he replied with a smile, “is willfully to misunderstand them.”_

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Eleven**

* * *

“Pass me the _Morning Chronicle_ , won’t you, Uncle Augustus?”

Without glancing up from his copy of the _Post_ , Augustus hands Melody the paper she’d requested and she unfolds it to the second page, skimming the headlines as she sips her tea. Around her, the chatter of a usual Pond breakfast fills the room but she’s gotten rather good at tuning them all out when it suits her. She reads about the latest political scandal in London, absently listening to Clara and Amy bicker between bites of eggs and bacon. 

“I met the most delightful woman in the market yesterday when I was shopping for ribbon.” Clara leans across the table and helps herself to the sugar, dropping several into her tea. “I think she was flirting with me.”

Still half asleep, Amy cuts into her sausage and mumbles, “You think everyone is flirting with you.”

Clara sips her tea, arching an eyebrow. “Can I help it if I’m always right?”

With a sigh, Augustus peers at his daughter over the top of his newspaper. “A respectable young woman does not flirt with a stranger in the marketplace, Clara. For the good of us all, do try to maintain a certain standard, would you?”

“But I was flirting back, Father.” Clara widens her eyes innocently. “Am I not a respectable young woman?”

“Not a day in your life,” Amy mutters around a mouthful of breakfast. 

“Oi, shove off.” Clara kicks her under the table, sticking out her tongue. “Lady Ashildr seemed to find me very respectable. She’s asked me to meet her for tea during the week.”

From behind his newspaper, Augustus harrumphs irritably. 

Tabetha finally glances up from her own breakfast, tutting softly. “Don’t discourage her, Augustus. You can hardly blame her for trying so tirelessly to find a suitable match since the very moment your last breath leaves your body, we shall be on the street and your dreadful nephew will be master of this house.”

Amy groans. “Mum, honestly. It’s not even ten in the morning yet.”

With a sigh, Melody shifts her attention from the _Chronicle_ to offer her aunt a weary stare. “Agreed. Can we please save death, marriage, and other unseemly subjects for dinner conversation?”

Tabetha sniffs delicately, turning back to her tea. 

They sit in blessed silence for all of thirty seconds before a maid slips quietly into the room and delivers a note to Amy before walking out again. Amy breathes in sharply, capturing the attention of everyone around the table. Clara pauses with a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth. Augustus peers over the top of his newspaper curiously and Tabetha cranes her neck to get a peek at the envelope until Amy says with a grin, “It’s from Pandorica Manor.”

Tabetha squeals. “Open it, open it!”

Unsealing the envelope carefully, Amy pulls out the letter and scans it quickly. The smile slips from her face. “It’s from Missy Smith,” she says, wilting a bit. “She’s inviting me to tea but Mr. Williams won’t be there.” She glances up, stuffing the letter into the folds of her dress. “Can I take the carriage?”

“Of all the ridiculous-” Tabetha sinks back into her chair, muttering into her coffee. “How dare he not be there. What business could he possibly have more important than seeing our Amelia again? I’ve never heard of such-”

“Mum,” Amy interrupts with an impatient huff. “The carriage?”

Tabetha sighs. “No, of course not. You’ll take the horse.” She smiles suddenly, that devious grin Melody has come to dread, and glances out the window. “It looks like rain.”

-

The skies open up nearly the moment Amy leaves for the Williams estate and it continues all through the night, pouring buckets until the early hours of the morning. Melody tosses and turns, hardly sleeping a wink as she imagines delicate Amy caught in the downpour, drenched through and shivering. When day finally breaks, puddles as wide as lakes have formed on the soggy ground outside and the chill in the springtime air has Melody shuddering even under her layers.

Tabetha is entirely too pleased with herself, floating through the house with a pleasant smile on her face because her master plan had worked. Amy had been forced to remain an overnight guest at Pandorica manor thanks to her machinations, putting her right in the path of Rory Williams. Her complete disregard for the possible consequences of her actions is so utterly unbearable Melody aims to avoid her for the whole day lest she snarl something uncharitable at her aunt in a fit of temper. 

With this in mind, she skips breakfast and lunch, huddled under a shawl to fight off the chill in the air as she takes shelter in the relative quiet of Uncle Augustus’ study. The fire crackles in the grate, the gray light outside seeps lazily through the curtains, and the tea at her side is still warm enough to waft fragrant steam toward her. Combined with the comforting sound of her uncle turning the occasional page in his book, all this might have been enough to lull her to sleep any other time. Too occupied with staring out the window in hopes of spotting Amy returning on horseback, she barely notices any of her creature comforts.

“Why do you do it?”

Augustus looks up, startled from his book by the first words she has spoken in hours. “Hmm?”

“Aunt Tabetha,” Melody elaborates, still gazing hopefully at the horizon. “Why do you let her use your daughters like chess pieces in some ridiculous game where the prize is merely a man?”

Augustus chuckles, as amused as ever by her candor. “Merely a man? Mind your audience, my dear.”

With a roll of her eyes, Melody tears her eyes from the window long enough to glance over her shoulder. “Apologies, Uncle. You know I don’t hold you in the same category as the lesser of your sex.”

“Just so then.” He winks. “But I find it easier to allow Tabetha to do as she pleases. We all live quieter lives that way.”

Melody frowns. “You would prize a bit of quiet above your daughters?”

“Your aunt does what she thinks is best. I cannot fault her for her endeavors to make sure Amy and Clara and even you will be looked after once we’re gone, whether I agree with her particular methods or not.” His reading glasses slide down the bridge of his nose and he studies Melody over the rims, his eyes going soft in understanding. “Amy will be just fine, my dear. Don’t fret.”

In the afternoon, word arrives from Amy in the form of a hastily penned note:

_All,_

_After being caught in the rain yesterday afternoon, I’ve taken ill. Nothing serious — only a sore throat, a fever, and a monstrous headache. Mr. Williams won’t hear of me leaving until I’ve improved. I’ll write tomorrow to let you know how I’m feeling. Try not to miss me too terribly._

_Amy_

Melody glances up from the letter, narrowed eyes fixed on her aunt. “Are you happy now? She’s practically on her deathbed because you wouldn’t lend her the carriage.”

“Look on the bright side.” From his writing desk, Augustus grumbles, “If she dies, at least we can all comfort ourselves with the knowledge that it was in pursuit of Mr. Williams, eh Tabetha?”

Tabetha sighs patiently, refusing to look up from her knitting. “People do not die of colds nowadays. She’ll come home in a week and by then, Rory Williams will be too much in love with her to live with himself.”

Unbelievable. Her aunt is bloody _unbelievable_. Completely disregarding the health of her own daughter in the selfish hope that maybe she’ll marry rich and save them all from some future destitution. And poor Amy, severely ill and bed-ridden in the house of strangers with no one familiar to look after her. 

Fuming, Melody tosses aside the letter and stands, fumbling for her cloak. “I’m going to see her tomorrow morning.” She bares her teeth when Tabetha looks up in protest. “And don’t worry, I wouldn’t _dream_ of taking the carriage.”

-

She walks the whole way to Pandorica Manor in the morning, her lingering righteous indignation over the whole affair fueling her the entire miserably chilly, thoroughly damp journey across the moor until she reaches the estate. By the time she arrives, she’s shivering, muddy, and feeling more than a bit murderous.

A servant lets her in and shows her into the resplendent dining room, where John Smith and his sister Missy are having tea. They look utterly perfect, like paintings, as they sit in their fine clothes and sip from delicate china. Standing in her wet muslin gown, her hair wild around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed from the wind and the cold, Melody drips rainwater on their polished dining room floor. She forces back the self-conscious urge to smooth down her dress or possibly hide behind the massive potted plant to her right. 

The moment John Smith sees her, his eyes widen and he leaps to his feet. His chair scrapes across the floor and it echoes in the vast room. Melody grimaces, watching him bow at the waist in bewilderment. Where had those bloody manners been at the ball a few days ago? Perhaps somewhere in that very small, cold heart of his there’s a flicker of guilt for speaking so ill of her. For a long moment, he says nothing. He simply stares at her, his expression entirely unreadable. 

Missy breaks the silence, wrinkling her nose in disdain. “Good heavens, did you walk here?”

“Yes,” Melody replies, continuing to meet John’s piercing stare. Foregoing the usual pleasantries, she asks with impatience, “How is Amy?”

“She’s upstairs,” he says, still studying her intently. “With her nursemaid, Rory.”

Melody bites back a smile for the second time in their short acquaintance. Damn his surprising sense of humor. Considering she’d sworn after they met to loathe him until the end of time, he makes it dreadfully inconvenient sometimes. Finally looking away from him, she curtsies quickly and murmurs, “Thank you. I’ll see myself up.”

Turning on her heel, she slips out of the dining room and toward the stairs. It’s a big house, however, and everything echoes. As her hand reaches for the smooth, elegantly carved mahogany banister, she hears Missy laugh. “She must have splashed in every mud puddle from here to Pond House like some sort of deranged pig. Have you ever seen anything so frightful?”

Climbing the stairs now, Melody barely hears John’s quiet reply. “I didn’t notice.”

Once she reaches the top of the staircase, it’s only a matter of following the soft sound of Mr. Williams’ voice down an impeccable corridor and into an even more impeccable guest bedroom. Snuggled down under the blankets of a plush bed, Amy looks weak and tired but she’s still smiling as she looks at Rory. He sits in a chair beside the crackling hearth, a book open on his lap as he reads aloud to her. It’s only once she actually sees her cousin and feels that knot of anxiety in her chest loosen that Melody realizes it had been there at all. Amy is certainly ill but it doesn’t seem to be anything a bit of rest and some tea cannot fix. 

“Well,” Melody says, breathing out the last of her worries as she leans against the doorway with a grin. “With a caretaker such as this, no wonder you’re not eager to come home.”

At the sound of her voice, Amy only looks up with a scowl and a faint blush but Mr. Williams’ startles so badly he nearly drops his book. He catches it before it hits the floor, clutching it to his chest as he stands and bows. “Miss Pond! What a lovely surprise.” 

“I thought I’d check in on our dear Amelia but I see I needn’t have worried.” Melody steps into the room, dropping her bonnet and cloak at the foot of the bed. Glancing up, she smiles at Rory. “Thank you for looking after her so thoroughly.”

He flushes, smiling shyly as he glances at Amy huddled in bed. “It’s been a pleasure.” He grimaces, his eyes widening. “I mean, not a pleasure that she’s ill. Just — I mean, it’s a pleasure that she’s here. Being ill.”

As the flush on his pale face deepens, Melody chuckles softly. “I understand your meaning, Mr. Williams. And you’re far too good to us.”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, still looking embarrassed. “It’s lovely to have her. Here, I mean. Um, I’ll just give you two some time alone.” He looks to Amy, hands clasped uncertainly. “Just call if you need anything. I’ll have someone bring tea for the both of you.”

Amy murmurs her thanks, smiling widely at him, and he takes his leave of them. As the door shuts gently behind him, Melody settles onto the edge of the bed and takes Amy’s hand in her own. “Someone’s smitten,” she observes slyly. 

“Oh, stop it.” Amy squeezes her fingers anyway, rolling her eyes. “He’s genuinely that nice to everyone.”

“I wasn’t talking about him.” Melody eyes her pointedly and Amy flushes, frowning at her. “No sense in denying it; I know you too well.”

Amy shrugs, shifting to lean against the mountain of plump pillows behind her. “It doesn’t matter.He’s worth five thousand a year and I have absolutely nothing of value to offer him.”

“You’re plenty valuable all on your own.” Melody reaches out a gentle hand, brushing Amy’s sweat damp ginger hair from her forehead. “And if he has any good sense at all, he’s already realized that for himself.”

“Now who’s biased?” Amy mumbles, smiling weakly.

“All right, I confess.” Melody pats her cheek, winking. “I’m entirely prejudiced in your favor.”

She laughs, turning her face into her pillow. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s good to see a familiar face, even if it is yours.”

Melody sticks out her tongue and Amy laughs again, though it quickly devolves into a painful sounding cough. As she collapses back into her pillow once more, Melody reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table and holds it to her lips. Amy gulps it greedily and Melody waits until she’s had her fill before setting it aside again. She rearranges the blankets around her, tucking Amy snugly into bed. 

“Poor thing,” she murmurs. “How’re you feeling?”

Amy groans. “Rubbish. And not just physically. I’m being such an imposition — and in the house of people I barely know, at that.”

Rolling her eyes, Melody says soothingly, “Don’t fret about that. I honestly can’t tell who is more pleased to have you here, Tabetha or Mr. Williams.”

“Oh, don’t remind me.” Amy shudders. “Mum must have been unbearably smug.”

“You’ve no idea.” Melody sighs, shaking her head. “She’s probably planning the wedding as we speak. And the moment I return this evening, she’ll be at the door with a thousand questions about you and Mr. Williams and what your future home looks like.”

Amy wrinkles her nose, reaching weakly across the bed to latch onto the sleeve of Melody’s dress. “Don’t go back to tonight. Stay here with me.” She pouts up at her, eyes going wide and bottom lip sticking out in that manner that has gotten Amy her way since they were children. “I need you here. Rory is lovely but not even he and his endless array of household staff can look after me the way you can. Please? He’ll insist anyway so you might as well say yes.”

“Oh, all right. Honestly.” Melody huffs, frowning at her. “Does Mr. Williams know what a spoiled creature you are? Perhaps someone should tell him.”

“He’d never believe you.” Amy thrusts out her chin haughtily, her eyes twinkling. “I’m far too lovely.”

“An utter terror masquerading as a pretty daydream,” Melody mocks. “I suppose if he’s still besotted after seeing you ill and petulant, there isn’t much hope. He must be half in love already.”

Amy rolls her eyes but her wide grin betrays her. 

Once they’ve had their tea, Melody takes up the book Mr. Williams had abandoned, reading to Amy until her head droops against her pillow and sleep finally claims her. Considering the generous Mr. Williams had already insisted she stay the night, Melody contemplates just climbing into bed beside her cousin and drifting off to sleep herself. It’s still too early, however, and retiring without at least chatting for a few minutes with her hosts seems a bit too rude even for her. 

With a sigh, Melody closes the copy of _Paradise Lost_ and rises to her feet. She’ll go downstairs and finish reading it by the fire, just to put in an appearance. She arranges the blankets neatly around Amy and steps lightly from the room, closing the door behind her. Though her clothes have dried out, her dress is still spattered with mud from her journey and the scent of the damp air still clings to her. 

It isn’t in her nature to feel self-conscious and never has been. A wild creature from the beginning, Melody had always been the child roaming the moors at all hours of the day, hiding from Aunt Tabetha and her stitching lessons, preferring instead to climb trees with Jack and lie in the meadow with a book. She has always taken great delight in defying propriety. Something about these people and this opulent manor, however, makes her wish she’d taken a little more care with her appearance. She can already feel John Smith’s disapproving eyes on her and she hasn’t even seen him yet. 

Well sod him, the arrogant tosspot. 

Even as she squares her shoulders and sets her jaw stubbornly, Melody smoothes her fingers over her wild hair as she descends the stairs. Once again, she follows the sound of voices — this time toward the drawing room. 

“What sort person goes scampering about the countryside because her cousin has a cold?” Missy tuts softly, and the cruel curl of her lip is nearly audible. Melody clenches her hands around the book in her grasp, gritting her teeth. “You saw her when she arrived. She looked like an escaped lunatic.”

“She looked perfectly well, Aunt Missy,” comes Mr. Williams chiding reply. “And who cares, anyway? Walking nearly three miles to visit Miss Amelia shows a remarkable amount of affection for her cousin and I admire her for it.”

As she lingers outside the parlour and thinks irritably of Clara’s bad habit of eavesdropping rubbing off on her, Melody wonders how two so dissimilar individuals could possibly come from the same family. Rory has clearly taken after the Williams side of his kin, because he’s far too kind to fit in among his arrogant aunt and uncle. Though it never bodes well to listen to gossip about one’s self, she cannot quite make herself step into the room and put an end to the conversation just yet. 

“John noticed,” Missy says. “Didn’t you, dearest? And I’m certain you wouldn’t allow your daughter to roam the moors like some sort of wild animal.”

Mr. Smith’s reply is short and distracted, as though irritated to be a part of the conversation at all. “I rarely _allow_ Bill to do anything.”

Melody frowns, wondering why no one had ever mentioned John Smith had a daughter. It’s difficult to imagine the surly, cantankerous man she is familiar with doting on a child, let alone raising one. As she ponders the bewildering images such knowledge paints, she finally forces herself to walk into the parlour and silence the gossip before she hears something she’d rather she didn’t. 

Everyone looks up as she steps into the room, both Mr. Williams and Mr. Smith rising hastily from their seats as decorum demands. Missy barely glances at her, daintily dipping a biscuit into her tea. “Miss Pond,” Rory greets her, smiling. “How is — well, the _other_ Miss Pond, I suppose?”

“Finally asleep,” Melody replies, curtsying absent-mindedly. She can feel the eyes of John Smith on her as she rounds the intricately carved coffee table and takes the only seat available to her — on the settee beside him. He sits slowly when she’s settled, as though she might bite him. “And I’m pleased to report her fever has broken. If you don’t mind lending us your carriage, I believe she’ll be well enough to make the journey home tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Rory, bless him, somehow manages to look disappointed and pleased all at the same time. “I’m relieved to hear she’s improved, though we’ll be very sorry to lose her company. Isn’t that right, Missy?”

Missy glances up from her tea with a frozen, insincere smile. “Utterly shattered.”

With a sigh at her lackluster performance, Rory glances back at Melody with an apologetic grimace. “You’re both welcome here anytime.”

“Thank you.” Melody lifts the book she still holds. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to finish it before bed.”

“You enjoy reading?”

“Very much.” Melody smiles. “Too much, according to my aunt.”

Rory shakes his head. “No such thing, isn’t that right, John?” He nudges Mr. Smith with toe of his shoe and John starts, looking up from the floor with a glare. “My uncle’s library at Arcadia is extensive. It practically takes up a whole wing. I swear he’ll never be able to read them all.”

“How lovely.” 

The last thing Melody wants is to pay a jot of attention to the taciturn Mr. Smith but with Rory drawing him into the conversation, it would be rude to ignore him. And she certainly doesn’t want to show her envy for such a massive library, even though she can feel herself practically salivating at the thought of getting her hands on such a wide collection of literature. The library at Pond House is filled mostly with Augustus’ law books and Clara’s dreadful romances. 

Forcing a polite expression onto her face, Melody says, “Do you travel with any of your library, Mr. Smith?”

Sitting stiffly beside her, as though afraid of turning toward her or looking directly at her, John glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “You’re holding one of them.”

Melody casts her eyes upon the elegant binding of Paradise Lost still sitting on her lap and curses inwardly. Of course it’s his. Of course it is. “Oh, I thought it belonged to Mr. Williams.” She clears her throat, holding the book out to him. “I apologize. Would you like to-”

“No.”

She blinks at the vehemence of the reply. 

John turns his head, his eyes finding hers, and something in his expression softens. “I don’t mind. Finish it.”

Placing the book carefully back on her lap, Melody murmurs, “Thank you.”

He nods once, still watching her intently. 

Floundering for something to say with his searching gaze studying her so thoroughly, Melody traces a fingertip over the embossing on the book cover. “Do you enjoy Milton, Mr. Smith?”

“Only in small doses,” he replies, and his eyes follow the path of her fingers over the cover. “Otherwise I find myself wanting to chuck the whole thing out the nearest window. I prefer Shakespeare.”

Melody purses her lips and admits reluctantly, “So do I.”

“You may prefer the bard, Uncle, but you’ll read anything,” Rory interjects fondly. “I’m afraid if you don’t marry soon, you’ll end up converting your entire estate into a library.”

John scowls at him, finally directing that intent gaze elsewhere. For the first time in several minutes, Melody feels like she can breathe properly. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m afraid I must agree,” Melody says with a teasing, mournful sigh. “A library is paradise, Mr. Williams.”

Rory laughs. “Don’t encourage him, please. I’m trying to convince him to abandon his life of eternal bachelorhood.”

“A fruitless effort.” Missy snorts delicately. “No one will ever be good enough for John. He’s very nearly as much of a snob as I am.”

“Is that so?” Melody casts John an appraising glance and he stiffens again under her attention. “And what exactly are you looking for in a wife that’s so difficult to find, Mr. Smith? Embroidery? An excellent dancer? Perfect penmanship?”

Clearly unhappy with being the sudden center of attention or the subject of her teasing, John shifts uneasily beside her on the settee. He stares at his hands and she notices for the first time how slender and elegant they are — like a pianist. She wonders idly if he plays at all. “None of that, actually. I don’t care for needlepoint or drawing or any of the other useless skills so many other men seem to find so essential in a partner.”

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Then what do you want?”

“Not much.” He keeps his stare fixed on his hands, his brow furrowed. “An aptitude for music and languages are important because those sort of people tend to be naturally thoughtful and curious. A love of extensive reading is essential if we’re to have any hope of a conversation. A playful disposition would be useful because I often find myself being far too serious. And if at all possible, I’d like to share my love of horseback riding with her.”

Melody stares at him, overcome with the sudden sensation that he could very well be describing _her_ whether he’s aware of it or not. She curls her fingers tightly around the book in her lap and swallows thickly. When she speaks, her voice sounds higher than usual. “Well, no wonder you haven’t found anyone to your liking. Such a woman must be a fearsome creature to behold.”

John arches an eyebrow. “You think me too demanding?”

“Not at all.” She avoids his gaze, licking her lips. “I think we live in a society that values more frivolous things in a woman. Most girls are indoors learning to knit and how to plan a dinner party. It leaves little time for extensive reading and roaming the moors on horseback, Mr. Smith.”

“Well thank Christ I never employed a governess for Bill,” John mutters. “I don’t think she would have had the patience for such nonsense. She spent most of her girlhood wandering about the estate with the dog.”

Melody bites back a laugh, astonished that such a stern man could raise such a free spirit. “She’s lucky then, your daughter. I’d have given anything for that sort of upbringing.” She hesitates, wondering if asking might be crossing some sort of boundary only Aunt Tabetha would understand. “Does she take after your wife then? I can’t picture you ever being quite so carefree, Mr. Smith.”

Missy giggles suddenly, high-pitched and incredulous, but it’s the faint quirk of John’s lips that captures and holds her attention. The expression fades almost immediately as he casts Missy a baleful glance. “Bill doesn’t take after anyone,” he says, turning back to Melody. “She was a foundling. I took her in when she was a tot. I’m afraid her quirks are entirely her own.”

“That’s very admirable of you, Mr. Smith,” she admits grudgingly. Somehow, the man continues to surprise her. “And I’m sure your daughter is very grateful. I myself was taken in by my aunt and uncle when my own parents died so I know what it is to be an orphan.”

John shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He seems to realize at the same moment that Melody does how close they’re sitting now, their knees nearly touching as they converse. They’ve been ignoring Rory and Missy entirely and John has almost smiled at her twice now. The soft, almost friendly expression on his face drops away completely as he realizes this. Melody watches in both fascination and disappointment as he stiffens and turns from her, scowling again. 

“While I admire their kindness, it wasn’t very practical of your aunt and uncle, was it?” He asks, and his voice is cold enough to stiffen Melody’s spine. “Being so dreadfully poor, it’s a wonder they agreed to take in another mouth to feed.”

Missy snorts. 

“ _John_ ,” Rory says, soft and reprimanding. 

“That’s quite all right.” Melody stands slowly, making a point to slide _Paradise Lost_ across the settee in John’s direction. He flinches but doesn’t look at her, working his jaw in silence. He looks angry but for the life of her, she couldn’t begin to guess at who. “Lucky for my relatives, I don’t eat much. I think I’ll retire for the night. Goodnight, everyone.”

With a quick curtsy, Melody stalks from the parlour and toward the stairs. It’s only once she’s out of sight that she allows her polite smile to drop and a thunderous expression to take over her face as she stomps up the stairs to the guest bedroom. She can't believe she had allowed herself to be drawn in by his stupid quick wit and their surprising amount of similarities. She has known from nearly the moment she met him that John Smith is a mean-spirited, dreadful human being but for some reason, he has a way of making her forget that whenever she’s around him for more than five minutes. 

She will _not_ forget again. 

Slipping into the guest bedroom, she shuts the door behind her and leans against it. Glaring sightlessly across the darkened room, she mutters furiously, “Odious little worm.”

On the bed, Amy shifts sleepily. “Melody? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lies, pasting on a smile. “Go back to sleep.”

She slips out of her muddy dress in the dark, slipping beneath the blankets in her thin chemise. Amy curls into her at once, seeking more warmth. Melody wraps an arm around her and strokes her hair as her cousin drifts off to sleep, but rest will not come to her for hours yet. She lays there and fumes, staring at the ceiling and hating John Smith more and more with every sleepless minute that passes. 

Walking out to the carriage in the early morning light the next day, Melody is only too happy to leave Pandorica Manor behind. Rory Williams has been nothing but a gentleman but if she never sees his snob of an aunt or his deeply unpleasant uncle ever again, it will be far too soon. Common decency dictates the entire party stands outside to bid them farewell but Melody doesn’t even glance in the direction of John or his equally horrid sister. 

After Amy and Rory exchange goodbyes, Amy her usual flirtatious self and Rory grinning and shy, he helps her into the carriage. He turns to Melody then, smiling genially. “Have a safe journey home, Miss Pond.”

“Thank you,” she says, dipping her head briefly. “And for your hospitality, Mr. Williams. You’re a saint.”

He flushes. “It was nothing. It was a pleasure having her here.” He stutters. “And you, of course.”

Melody laughs softly. “Not to worry, Mr. Williams. I’m well aware Amy is far more charming company than I.” She squeezes his arm and turns away, starting when she nearly walks right into John Smith standing beside the carriage. He doesn’t move and she forces herself to lift her eyes from his cravat to look at him properly. It takes all her strength not to glower. “Goodbye, Mr. Smith.”

Without another word, she steps around him. Skirts in hand, she moves to climb inside but before she can, there’s a calloused hand in hers, helping her step up and into the carriage. Her breath catches and the unexpected touch sends a shock up her arm. She turns, peering over her shoulder, and finds John Smith behind her. He avoids her searching gaze, his eyes on their entwined fingers. 

“Safe travels, Miss Pond,” he murmurs.

With her safely inside the carriage, he slips his hand from hers and turns. Melody stands on unsteady legs, watching him walk away with his fists clenched at his sides. When he disappears into the house, she sinks down onto the bench beside Amy. The carriage begins to trundle down the drive and away but Melody can only stare blankly ahead, her hand tingling on her lap. 

It’s only when she arrives home that she sees _Paradise Lost_ on the empty seat across from her. 


	3. a tolerably powerful feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He isn’t at all what she has pictured all these years, whenever her aunt and uncle discussed the man who would one day inherit everything. She had always imagined a scrawny, pasty fellow with spectacles and a snooty, upturned nose. She couldn’t have been more wrong. With his thick dark hair, broad shoulders, and sparkling brown eyes, Ramone Collins is quite possibly the prettiest man she has ever beheld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a ball, an annoying cousin, and a bewildering encounter on the dance floor.

_She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerably powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another._

**Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

Three days after their return from Pandorica Manor, Augustus reveals that his distant cousin — the very same man who will one day inherit their estate and leave the Pond women without a home — will be paying them a visit soon. Tabetha, of course, receives this news with her usual calm affability. 

“How dare you allow that man into our home, Augustus,” she hisses, angrily stirring sugar into her afternoon tea. “The very idea of him sitting at our table, knowing he’s the reason for our future unhappiness. How can you expect me to bear it?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage admirably, pet.” Augustus exchanges a secretive glance with Melody from across the table and she squints at him, instantly suspicious of the amusement sparkling in his eyes. “You’ve got all afternoon to prepare, after all. He won’t arrive until tonight.”

Tabetha chokes on her tea. 

The rest of Melody’s day is spent hiding from Aunt Tabetha as she scurries around the house trying to make it presentable, fretting over what their cook should prepare, and which of her gowns would make the best impression on the man who will eventually decide their future. Melody avoids her by sneaking Lizzy out of the stables and riding off onto the moors for the duration of the afternoon. She reads for hours beneath her favorite shade tree, nothing but the gentle breeze through the branches to distract her from the page. 

Only when she deems it absolutely necessary to return home before a furious Aunt Tabetha sends out a search party does Melody finally close her book with a sigh and climb to her feet. She tarries only long enough to pick a few apples to bring back home with her, and one for Lizzy as a treat, before she climbs back on her horse and heads for Pond House. Despite her reluctance to go home, she can’t help but give in to the thrill of racing quickly over the grounds, the wind in her face and Lizzy galloping broad and strong beneath her. 

By the time she sneaks into the house, the sun is dipping beneath the horizon and she'll barely have time to wash away the smell of horse and the sweet scent of the outdoors before their cousin arrives. She somehow manages to evade Tabetha on her way up to her room, stopping a maid on the stairs to request water brought to her room. She slips into her room and shuts the door silently behind her, grinning when the house remains silent around her. Nothing pleases her more than getting away with mischief right under Aunt Tabetha’s nose. 

Though she washes quickly, her hair is still damp from her bath when she descends the stairs, just as their guest knocks on the door. Smoothing her dress surreptitiously, Melody avoids Aunt Tabetha’s disapproving glare and moves to stand beside Amy as Augustus opens the door. 

“Where have you _been_?” Amy hisses under her breath.

Melody smirks. “Out.”

“Unfair.” Amy nudges her, frowning. “I’ve been listening to Mum whinge about Mr. Collins all day.”

Before Melody can reply, their infamous cousin steps into the house. The moment he looks up, their eyes meet and she can’t help but stare. He isn’t at all what she has pictured all these years, whenever her aunt and uncle discussed the man who would one day inherit everything. She had always imagined a scrawny, pasty fellow with spectacles and a snooty, upturned nose. She couldn’t have been more wrong. With his thick dark hair, broad shoulders, and sparkling brown eyes, Ramone Collins is quite possibly the prettiest man she has ever beheld. 

Though she knows far better than to be taken in by a nice face — there have been plenty of handsome men in her life and usually beyond their looks, they have nothing whatsoever to hold her attention — she can’t help feeling briefly charmed when Ramone walks right up to her. He takes her hand, bowing gallantly, and she fights back a grimace when she finds his palm sweaty. “Miss Pond,” he says, straightening. “You must be Melody.”

“Mr. Collins.” Melody curtsies briefly. “Lovely to meet you at last.”

He smiles warmly. “If I had known all of my cousins were so exceedingly pretty, I would have visited sooner. And all three of you unmarried? I must confess, I feel like a starving man standing in the finest meat market.”

Melody just manages to keep the frozen smile on her face from slipping at the remark but somewhere behind her, she hears Clara gag. “You’re… too kind, Mr. Collins.”

Swallowing her disgust with some effort, she keeps her expression carefully blank until Ramone finally drops her hand and turns away. With a scowl, Melody wipes her hand on her skirts and turns her head to share a baleful glance with her cousins. As they walk together into the dining room, Amy mimes slitting her throat and the three of them stifle laughter as they take their seats. 

Almost at once, Melody realizes that though Ramone Collins is a lovely specimen of a man, he is so unbearably dull that she could not hope to endure his company for longer than a three course dinner. And even that is a struggle of monumental proportions. Not only is he excessively boring company, but he is quite possibly the most awkward individual she could ever hope to encounter. His conversation lacks both charm and wit; he drops his napkin so often Melody wonders if he might be cursed with some sort of affliction; and he seems entirely oblivious to most social cues. 

Melody hides a yawn in the palm of her hand, blinking rapidly as she listens to Ramone natter on about his esteemed neighbor, some rich old biddy called Lady Kovarian who clearly believes herself to be the long lost descendent of the Queen herself. Around her, Amy sits with her elbows on the table as she stares dejectedly into the remains of her dessert; Clara has somehow managed to obtain everyone else’s leftover wine and is methodically working her way through every glass; and Augustus has abandoned the appearance of attentiveness altogether, a newspaper hidden away on his lap as he reads by candlelight. 

Only Tabetha seems truly invested, leaning forward in her seat with a polite smile on her face as Ramone drones on and on. Melody suspects her aunt’s fascination with the dull Mr. Collins has far more to do with discovering his bachelorhood than any true interest in anything he has to say. Apparently he’s hoping to marry — and soon. Though Tabetha wouldn’t dare dream of handing Amy over to Ramone when the wealthy, amiable Mr. Williams seems to have his eye on her, Melody fears slightly more for herself and Clara. It would be exactly like her calculating, marriage-obsessed aunt to push Ramone onto one of them in hopes of securing the estate for the good of the rest of the family. 

“Of course, as I said to the distinguished Lady Kovarian, I could never select a partner without first gaining her approval. I trust her judgement implicitly.” Ramone glances at Melody out of the corner of his eye and she stiffens under his attention, refusing to meet his gaze lest he take it as encouragement. “She seemed quite pleased with the idea. Most women tend to be flattered by those sort of compliments and I’m rather adept at giving them.”

Clara rolls her eyes and picks up another glass. “How fortunate that a man who possesses such a talent for flattery is among us.”

“Mm. Indeed.” Melody tucks her fist under her chin, turning her attention fully to Ramone as she bites back a smirk. “Tell me, Mr. Collins…Do you give these compliments in the spur of the moment or do you think them up ahead of time?”

Clara stifles a bout of laughter in another sip of wine and Amy finally glances up from her dessert with interest. Beneath the table, Aunt Tabetha kicks Melody in the shin in silent warning. 

Melody hides a grimace but otherwise ignores her.

Oblivious, Ramone wipes his mouth on his napkin and grins broadly at her. “I do often like to think of little compliments ahead of time but it’s important to me that they give the appearance of spontaneity.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry.” Melody bares her teeth in a smile. “No one would dare think your manners rehearsed.”

Clara chokes on her wine, bursting into peals of laughter she quickly tries to hide in a cough; Amy buries her red face in her hands; and Augustus lifts the paper higher to cover the smile on his face. Only Aunt Tabetha and Ramone remain straight-faced, the former glowering furiously at Melody from across the table and the latter still clueless that he’s even been insulted in the first place. 

“So,” Melody says, clasping her hands together. “Who’s for a game of cards?”

-

The ball at Pandorica Manor has barely begun and Melody is already overheated, irritable, and quite ready to escape out a second story window to hide in the barn with the horses. Before they had even departed Pond House, Ramone had taken her aside and asked for the first two dances. With a knot of dread in her stomach, Melody had realized he had clearly set his sights on her as his prospective bride. He had paid her particular attention all through dinner the night before and now this. She hadn’t wanted to encourage him but refusing would be tantamount to a slap in the face. So she’d agreed, albeit with a pittance of grace. 

Unfortunately, dancing with Ramone is even more awkward than dining with him. Melody cannot fathom how one manages to get so far in life and not learn how to dance without trodding on the toes of one’s partner but he’s utterly hopeless. During several of the exchanges, he turns in the wrong direction and nearly walks right into the couple beside them. His every painful attempt to engage Melody in conversation results in some comparison between this ball and the last one he had attended held by Lady Kovarian. Apparently, none can compare to its splendor.

Melody spends a good portion of the dance fighting the urge to roll her eyes, yawn, or let her gaze wander around the room. The one time she does look away from Ramone and out into the crowded ballroom, her eyes land almost instantly on John Smith standing on the other side of the room, watching her intently. She looks away quickly and doesn’t dare let her gaze wander again. 

It’s with great relief that she loses Ramone in the crowd when their second and final dance is at an end, losing herself in the sea of dancers leaving the floor. She pushes through the throngs of people, desperate to escape before Ramone can decide to follow after her. Though she spots Amy chatting with Rory and his Aunt Missy, she avoids them as well. It would be far too easy for Ramone to find her there. She walks right by them, stopping only to snag a flute of champagne from a passing tray. 

Only when she finds Jack at the far end of the overcrowded ballroom does she finally feel safe. Ever the gentleman, he allows her to hide behind his broad shoulders and that’s where she decides she’ll spend the rest of the night if she must. Anything to evade the painfully bumbling attentions of Ramone Collins. 

“I don’t know why you’re so determined to avoid him,” Jack says over his shoulder. “Maybe the man is dull as a brick but I see no reason why you’d ever need to talk to him at all. There are far more interesting things to do with a face like that.”

Melody glares at him, only relenting when Jack waggles his brows salaciously. “You’re a cad,” she tells him fondly, pushing at his strong jaw to force his leering gaze away from her. “And I’m afraid my interest in his face is tied directly to what comes out of his mouth.”

“Pity.” He sighs, shaking his head. “What a waste of two perfectly good-looking faces.”

“Did someone say good-looking?” Melody glances up, biting back a sigh when she spots Clara heading straight for them with a young woman on her arm. “Are you talking about me?”

“Always.” Jack draws Clara to him with a grin. “How is my vain little monster?”

“Perfect as ever.” Clara kisses his cheek, turning to the young woman standing behind her. She looks a few years younger than Clara, her hair plaited into an intricate crown around her head, but her brown eyes look ancient. As though she’s seen far more than her young years should contain. Clara takes her hand and pulls her closer, smiling. “This is my new acquaintance, Lady Ashildr. We met in town a fortnight ago while shopping for ribbon.”

Lady Ashildr pats her arm, smirking. “I didn’t purchase any ribbon but she’s a much prettier ornament, is she not?”

Preening, Clara says, “I’m afraid I’m much too amiable to disagree with you.”

“Lovely to meet you, dear.” Melody sighs, eyeing her cousin. “Though I must apologize in advance for…everything Clara says and does.”

Clara scowls. “Oi, I’m a charming young woman. Ask anyone.”

“Excuse me, Miss Pond?”

Melody and Clara both whirl, though before she has even turned Melody feels her heart jump in her chest. She knows that voice. The moment she sees John Smith standing in front of her, she feels her spine stiffen into steel. For a man usually so comfortable in his finely tailored suits, looking down on the masses, he looks rather awkward at the moment. She’d wonder which Miss Pond he was addressing but his eyes are focused solely on her. Melody lifts her chin, prepared for another rude remark from the miserable sod. 

“Mr. Smith,” she greets coldly, softening only when she remembers _Paradise Lost_ , hidden beneath her pillow at home. “You’re well, I hope.”

He ignores the weak attempt at civility, still watching her intently. “I’d like to request the next dance, if you’ll have me.”

Melody stares at him, too startled by the request to immediately refuse him like she’d always imagined she would if given the opportunity. Even as her mind scrambles to come up with some reasonable excuse to refuse him, she finds herself nodding her consent. “Yes. I’ll…have you.”

“Good.” He turns to walk away but stops short when he catches a glimpse of Clara’s acquaintance. Lady Ashildr stiffens as their eyes meet, her young face growing hard and cold. John’s eyes narrow into slits and Melody watches in fascination as he seems to tremble with some unnamed rage. When he speaks, his voice is clipped and harsh. “Ashildr.”

She curtsies briefly and mutters, “John.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks off into the crowd. 

Clara whirls around again, her eyes wide as she looks at Lady Ashildr. “You know John Smith?” She shakes her head, holding up a hand. “Hang on, priorities.” She reaches out a hand and latches onto Melody’s arm, her grin wide and scandalized. “Did you just agree to dance with John bloody Smith? The man you hate with every fiber of your being?”

Still staring dazedly after him despite having lost sight of his gray head in the crowd, Melody says, “I suppose I did.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Clara exchange a curious glance with Jack but she pays them no mind. She had agreed to dance with John Smith. All these weeks of imagining him asking her that very question so that she could throw his request in his face and say something cutting about his age and when presented with the perfect opportunity, she’d just…agreed. What on earth is the matter with her? Clearly she’s had entirely too much champagne this evening. 

Or not enough. 

She throws back the rest of her drink and comforts herself with imaginings of stepping on John Smith’s toes as they dance. “It’ll be fine,” she says, more to herself than any of her companions. “Surely I can get through one dance with the man without wanting to strangle him.”

“Well, I’m going to need more to drink if I’m going to watch this. Come on, Harkness.” Clara grabs Jack by the arm and winks at Lady Ashildr. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.”

As Clara and Jack disappear through the crowd in search of more champagne, Melody glances uneasily at the relative stranger standing beside her. Clara might have brushed the odd encounter with John Smith off as just another person who hates the man but Melody had seen something entirely different in the interaction — something cold and angry. Whatever is between Lady Ashildr and Mr. Smith, it’s far more than the usual resentment left in the wake of John’s unpleasantness. 

“I apologize for my behavior before,” the younger woman says, as though reading Melody’s mind. “I did not intend to make things awkward by showing up here tonight. I had no idea Mr. Smith would be in attendance.”

Melody bites her lip. “Would you mind if I asked what occurred between the two of you? The atmosphere seemed rather strained.”

Lady Ashildr looks uncomfortable, glancing briefly around the room as though looking for eavesdroppers. She steps closer and Melody leans in obligingly, more curious than ever. “I met John’s daughter at a country ball nearly two years ago now. I was enchanted at once, of course. Bill has an open, honest manner that endears her to everyone she meets.” Lady Ashildr smiles fondly in remembrance. “I loved her very much and I believe she loved me too. We wanted to marry but Mr. Smith refused.”

Melody frowns. “But why?”

“I don’t know for certain but I got the impression he keeps his daughter tightly contained.” Lady Ashildr looks pained as she speaks, wringing her hands together. “It broke my heart to leave her but John threatened to take away Bill’s inheritance if I didn’t stop seeing her. I couldn’t be the reason for her misfortune so I left town. I have not seen her since but I think of her every day.”

“I’m sorry.” Melody places a hand on her arm and squeezes, overcome with rage all over again at the thought of the haughty Mr. John Smith. Who does he think he is, choosing who his daughter is allowed to love? She thinks of his earlier words at Pandorica Manor when he’d mentioned his daughter, claiming he rarely allowed Bill to do anything. Suddenly the playful words take on a whole new meaning and she feels her stomach churn. “He’s more dreadful than I realized.”

Lady Ashildr smiles weakly. “I must tell you that your cousin has been a bright spot in my life since the moment I met her. I find her excessively charming.”

Melody scoffs fondly. “She’s excessively _something_. I wouldn’t call it charming but I dare say you’re smitten.”

With a blush, Lady Ashildr murmurs, “Yes, I suppose I am.” She glances up suddenly, and her smile falls away at once. Melody follows the line of her gaze and finds John approaching, his eyes on her. She feels her blood begin to boil and looks away, cursing herself for her earlier weakness. “I believe it’s time for your dance. I’ll just find Clara before she empties poor Mr. Williams’ liquor stores.”

Lady Ashildr slips away and Melody turns just in time to be met with John Smith holding out a hand to her. “Is a dance still agreeable, Miss Pond?”

“Of course,” she says, swallowing back her distaste. “I promised, didn’t I?”

She places her gloved hand in his and though she cannot feel his calloused palm as his fingers curl over hers, she still feels that same jolt when he touches her. Before, she had mistaken the feeling for surprise or perhaps even excitement against her better judgement but now she knows it can only be disgust. She lets John lead her through the crowd. He only lets go of her hand when he must and they line up across from one another. 

Melody spots Ramone a few places down from her and almost panics that he’d managed to find her again but she glimpses Jack standing across from him and sags in relief. Bless that ridiculous man, distracting her dull cousin to keep him away from her. She owes him immensely for this evening.

She snaps back into focus as the music begins, bowing stiffly to her partner. John steps forward and reaches for her hand as they turn and the moment his fingers curl around hers, Melody feels that now-familiar tingle spread through her. His grip is surprisingly strong as he guides her and she swallows, searching desperately for something to say. 

His hands slip from hers as they pass one another and she remarks thoughtlessly, “I like this dance.”

John hums noncommittally in reply. 

Realizing that she has accidentally stumbled across a solution certain to annoy him, Melody keeps talking. “It’s invigorating, is it not?”

“Quite.”

As they meet up again in the middle of the dance floor, she says, “It’s your turn to say something now, Mr. Smith.” She tips up her chin to regard him, unsettled to find his blue eyes already studying her thoroughly. “Perhaps you might remark upon the size of the room or the number of couples on the floor.”

He sighs and the sound is at once exasperated and fond enough to startle her. “I’m perfectly happy to oblige you, Miss Pond.” As they turn and pass one another again, he asks, “Which would you most like to hear?”

Melody hides a smirk. “That will do for now.” They pass one another again and their hands clasp briefly. Even through the silk of her glove, Melody can feel the heat of his palm. “Perhaps I might observe that private balls such as this one are more pleasant than public balls.”

“Do you talk as a rule while dancing?” John arches an eyebrow, watching her curiously. 

“Not at all,” she replies, feeling the warmth of his hand slip away as they turn. “I prefer to be brooding and reticent.” She glances over her shoulder and the sight of his scowl has her hiding a smile in spite of her determination to hate him. John Smith confuses her like no other man she has ever met. How can such a mean-spirited, cruel sod manage to be quite so amusing? “Makes things so much more enjoyable, don’t you agree?”

He says nothing for a long moment and Melody begins to suspect she has finally irritated him into stubborn silence before he finally speaks. When he does, he surprises her yet again. “How long have you known Lady Ashildr?”

The nerve of him, daring to even mention her name when he’d ensured not only Lady Ashildr’s unhappiness but his very own daughter’s by keeping the lovers apart. “I just met her tonight,” Melody replies, glancing at him suspiciously. “But I find her to be quite charming.”

She watches John clench his jaw and this time when they clasp hands, his trembling grip is tight enough to make her gasp. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he snarls. “Ashildr has made a particular talent out of being as charming as a snake in the grass. You'd do well to stay away from her.”

“She seems to hold a similarly low opinion of you,” Melody says. “Care to explain why?”

“No, I don’t.” John glowers down at her and Melody realizes they’re no longer dancing. They’re simply standing close together in the middle of the floor, their hands still clasped for the next turn. They’re too close to be considered decent but for the life of her, she can’t bring herself to take a step back. “Care to tell me why you’re so interested?”

“Because I find you perplexing, Mr. Smith,” she confesses, returning his glare with one of her own. “There are so many different accounts of your character as to make a girl dizzy.”

“My apologies,” he says, his voice clipped. “I can only hope to afford you more clarity in future, Miss Pond.”

He stares down at her, his eyes blazing and his nostrils flared in annoyance. Melody glowers right back at him but as she looks at him, she realizes there’s something else in his gaze. The coldness that had been present when he stared at Ashildr is nowhere to be found. Only a strange heat and a flicker of conflict, as though he’s fighting something she cannot see. They stand there in the middle of the crowd as the music begins to fade around them, chests heaving with anger and things unsaid. 

The sound of applause startles them both and Melody blinks, glancing away hurriedly. No one else seems to have noticed their little disagreement, everyone smiling widely and either lining up for the next dance or slinking off to find more punch. Amazingly, not one person seems to notice Melody’s flushed cheeks or the palpable tension between her and her dance partner. No one seems to have realized they’re standing too close to be proper. 

She licks her lips, struggling to regain control of her erratic breathing. Her eyes slide back in John’s direction but when she looks, the space across from her is empty.


	4. headstrong, foolish girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Privately, she knows that Ramone is far too agreeable and mild-mannered to suit her. She likes a bit of push and pull in her relationships; someone to bicker with and discuss books and politics; someone with a wit to match her own. She wants a partner, not a companion. For some reason, her mind flashes to John Smith and she pushes it away with a scowl, wondering why she’d think of him now of all times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a proposal, a refusal, and an acceptance.

_“I will speak to her about it directly. She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest but I will_ make _her know it.”_

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Twenty**

* * *

Breakfast at Pond House the following morning is a quiet affair, with each and every person around the table quietly nursing a headache due to an overindulgence in champagne and dancing the night before. Melody suffers more than most, considering she’d had plenty to drink as she hid from Ramone and even more once she’d lost sight of John Smith after their bewildering dance. Head pounding, she clutches her teacup in both hands and flinches every time she hears the scrape of cutlery against a plate. 

Pale and droopy-eyed, Amy stares silently into her porridge. With her head down on the table, Clara appears to be actually asleep and even Aunt Tabetha doesn’t seem to have the energy to be her usual self this morning. Melody had expected to endure much gloating about how Mr. Williams had passed most of the ball at Amy’s side but instead, Tabetha only eats in silence. Every now and then she winces as though the very act of chewing pains her. 

No one looks up when Ramone enters the room. When he doesn’t take a seat, instead simply standing beside the table and fidgeting, Melody finally glances at him. He looks perfectly well, fresh as a bloody daisy. His suit is pressed, his hair is slicked back neatly, and his beard is impeccably groomed. Honestly, the man is too pretty to be a real person. Melody suppresses a sigh of boredom and turns her attention back to her tea. 

“Good morning.” Ramone clears his throat. “I wondered if you all might give me a moment alone with Melody.”

Breath catching, Melody jerks her head up again. Her stomach rebels at the sudden movement and she exhales shakily, pressing her fingertips to her mouth in an effort to quell the nausea. “Sorry,” she manages, her voice a panicked wheeze. “What?”

Either oblivious to her anxiety or determined to ignore it, Tabetha merely beams and stands so quickly her hangover must have miraculously disappeared. She moves as though her headache has been lifted entirely, just by the prospect of a proposal. And there is no doubt in Melody’s mind that is exactly what Ramone has planned. There is no other reason to need an audience alone with her. Her nausea spikes once more. 

“Of course,” Tabetha says, yanking on Amy’s arm to pull her up and away. Amy exchanges a alarmed glance with Melody. “Everybody out. Let’s give dear Ramone and Melody some privacy.”

“There’s no need for that,” Melody protests. Her heart feels as though it’s in her throat and her stomach keeps heaving dangerously. She feels very certain that if everyone abandons her to handle Ramone on her own, she will end up emptying the entire contents of her feeble stomach into the potted plant in the corner. “Whatever Mr. Collins has to say to me can be said in front of everyone.”

Tabetha shoves Amy from the room with an airy, “Nonsense.” 

She marches determinedly back into the room for poor Clara, shaking her awake roughly. Giving up when Clara only groans in protest, she huffs and tugs her bodily from her chair with the strength of a woman half her age. Still half asleep, Clara stumbles and nearly falls. “What the buggering-”

“Language,” Tabetha chides, ushering her out of the dining room. She turns, eyeing her husband sharply. “Augustus?”

Melody stares helplessly at her uncle, silently pleading with him. _Stay,_ she mouths. 

Newspaper folded under his arm, Augustus frowns in silent apology. Avoiding Melody’s desperate gaze, he rises slowly from the table and follows everyone else out of the room. Melody glares after him, feeling inexplicably betrayed. The last thing she sees before the doors to the dining room click shut is Amy’s white face peering at her from behind her mother. Eyes wide, she mouths, _Sorry_. And then the doors close, shutting Melody inside with Ramone. 

Thoroughly abandoned, she clenches her hands in her lap and fumes. 

Oblivious as ever to the atmosphere around him, Ramone rounds the table and approaches her. Melody stares resolutely at the door, willing it to open again. She tenses as he stops beside her and bends down on one knee. The moment he does, she wants to bury her head in her hands out of embarrassment for him. _Oh honestly_ , she wants to snarl. _Get up before you make an even bigger fool of yourself._ She breathes in and doesn’t exhale, biting down hard on her tongue. 

“Melody Pond,” he says, gazing up at her. Melody glances at him out of the corner of her eye and finds him staring up at her in worshipful fascination, like a sinner supplicating before a vengeful god. She turns abruptly to stare at the door again. She can’t recall a single instant where she’d ever encouraged him to think she might welcome him looking at her like that. “I hope you won’t think me too bold when I tell you that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever beheld. You’re clever and kind and when you are on my arm, I am the envy of the room.”

Melody clenches her teeth, nostrils flaring. 

Ignorant of her derision, Ramone keeps talking. “I believe you would make a wonderful companion and I know such an arrangement would benefit you as well, considering the unfortunate circumstances surrounding your uncle’s estate once he passes on.”

When Melody risks another glance at him, he beams up at her. Lord but he is very pretty. For a brief moment, she lets herself imagine what a life as Ramone Collins’ wife would be like. She imagines marrying him and moving away from her family to take charge of his household as its mistress. She imagines becoming the neighbor of Lady Kovarian and inviting the woman over for tea. She imagines the same dull conversation every night at the dinner table and even more dull nights between the sheets. She imagines bearing Ramone’s pretty babes and raising them to marry equally respectable, boring partners. 

In the span of a few seconds, her entire future with Ramone flashes before her eyes and the complete and utter lack of excitement, romance, or _love_ terrifies her to her core. “It’s a lovely offer, Ramone,” she says, lying through her teeth. “When you take possession of Pond House in the future, you can do so without guilt knowing you gave me an opportunity to save my place here by asking for my hand.”

The broad grin slips from his face. “Are you… Am I to understand you are refusing me?”

“I am.”

“But…” His brow furrows. “I can offer you stability. A home. A _future_.”

Melody forces a smile, pushing from her mind images of the very future his offer conjures. “That may well be true but I’m quite convinced you’re not the sort of man who would make me happy, Ramone, and I’m certain I could never make you happy either.”

Privately, she knows that Ramone is far too agreeable and mild-mannered to suit her. She likes a bit of push and pull in her relationships; someone to bicker with and discuss books and politics; someone with a wit to match her own. She wants a partner, not a companion. For some reason, her mind flashes to John Smith and she pushes it away with a scowl, wondering why she’d think of him now of all times. But perhaps it makes a bit of sense… She may hate the man but he’s never been boring. For every insult he’s ever given her, she can name twice as many times he’s very nearly made her laugh. 

With a frown, Ramone rises slowly to his feet. “I don’t understand,” he says. “I thought you would be overjoyed at such an offer.”

“I’m not really a marriage-minded girl, Mr. Collins.” Melody shrugs, smiling at him. “It will take far more than a proposal from a man I don’t love to satisfy me.”

He nods slowly, still looking puzzled. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” she assures him firmly. “But thank you.”

Deciding to leave before things get even more awkward than they already are, Melody rises from the breakfast table and moves quickly toward the doors like something is at her heels. She pushes the doors open and steps out into the corridor, scowling when she finds the entire family hovering outside in an effort to eavesdrop. 

Augustus straightens from his disinterested slouch against the wall, watching her with an anxious furrow in his brow. Amy and Clara hover at his side, clutching each other and staring at her like they’re waiting for terrible news. It’s clear by the hopeful expression on Tabetha’s face that she hadn’t heard enough of their conversation to make heads or tails of it. Bracing herself, Melody addresses them all wearily. “He asked for my hand.”

Tabetha lights up like a candle in the dark. 

“I said no.”

Without waiting for a reaction, Melody pushes past them all and stalks off down the corridor. Behind her, she hears Tabetha shriek, “ _You what?_ ”

Just as Melody reaches the front door and steps outside, she hears the echoing peals of laughter as Amy and Clara break into helpless giggles. The door slams shut on Tabetha’s frantic apologies to poor, jilted Ramone. Melody pauses only briefly to draw in a gulp of fresh air, letting the wind tumble her curls into her eyes and whip her skirts around her legs. She stares out at the beautiful, green expanse of land around Leadworth, infinitely grateful there is a whole unknown future spread out before her that has absolutely nothing to do with being Mrs. Ramone Collins. 

She moves quickly, striding toward the stables in the distance. The closer she gets, the more she can smell the fresh hay and hear the whinnying of the horses. She feels her body begin to relax out of habit, instinctively recognizing the scents of the stables as safety and freedom. Her heart finally starts to slow its frantic rhythm against her ribcage. Nothing feels quite as much like home as when she’s with the horses. She’d spent more time with them than she had with her family when she was a girl, hiding away in Lizzy’s stall when Tabetha wanted her to practice curtsying with Amy and Clara. 

Lizzy is waiting for her now, her head sticking out of the stall as she chews on a mouthful of hay. “Hello sweetie,” Melody greets, breaking into a smile. She reaches out a hand to stroke Lizzy’s nose, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she’s still shaking. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, you are.” 

Nuzzling into the bodice of Melody’s dress, Lizzy neighs quietly. 

“What do you say we run away together, eh?” She combs her fingers through the animal’s mane, smiling sadly. “Just us girls.”

Lizzy snuffles.

With a sigh, Melody admits, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. She’d hunt us like a bloodhound, wouldn’t she?” Listening to the sound of angry footsteps approaching the barn, she shuts her eyes. “Ah well. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“There you are, ungrateful child.” 

Melody holds in a scream of frustration, but only barely. “I’m not marrying him, Aunt Tabetha.”

“Nonsense.” Tabetha marches toward her, dragging Augustus by the sleeve of his coat. “You get back inside right this minute and tell that man you were only teasing and you would love nothing more than to marry him.”

Melody glares. “No.”

“But you’ll be mistress of this house someday!” Tabetha stares at her like she has two heads, utterly incapable of comprehending not wanting to marry for financial gain. For a moment, Melody pities her Uncle. “You’ll save me and your cousins from destitution-”

“You would make me a whore just to have a roof over your head twenty years from now?” Melody ignores her Aunt’s scandalized gasp at her language, lifting her chin stubbornly. “Amy and Clara would _never_ want that. And I will _not_ let you bully me into it either.”

“How dare you, you ungrateful, _selfish_ girl.” Tabetha finally lets go of Augustus, moving to stand behind him. She prods at his back to usher him forward but she’s such a small woman she doesn’t even budge him. “Tell her, Augustus.” She waves a furious hand, red-faced and fuming. “Tell her it’s the very _least_ she can do for us after we’ve taken her in all these years. Order her, Augustus.”

“Enough, Tabetha.” Augustus draws himself up to his full height and Melody stares at him wonderingly. She always forgets what a stout man her uncle is, always overshadowed by his tiny, ferocious wife. “We did not take my sister’s child into our home in the hopes of one day gaining some future benefit from her. We did it — or perhaps I should say _I_ did it - because I wanted her to be safe and cared for. Because I loved her even then, wee little thing she was.” He meets Melody’s startled gaze, his scowl softening into something almost apologetic. “And that isn’t about to change now just because she’s grown.”

Tabetha gapes at him. “But-”

“I know you mean well, Tabetha.” Augustus glances at Melody, his expression amused and encouraging. “But if she doesn’t want to marry that dull little man then I certainly won’t make her.”

Melody smiles, feeling grateful tears sting her eyes. “Thank you, Uncle.” She surges forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You really are the best of your sex.”

He harrumphs, self-conscious and blushing. “Away with you.”

She turns to do just that, patting Lizzy once more before she moves to leave the stables and let her aunt and uncle bicker in private. Only Tabetha’s firm grip on her wrist stops her. Looking into her furious eyes, Melody arches a questioning eyebrow. 

“You may think yourself desirable enough to have the luxury of refusing every offer of marriage that comes your way,” she says, her voice low and furious. “But rest assured, one day soon you will find yourself quite alone, well past marriageable age and without a husband. I don’t know who you think will look after you once your uncle is dead but I certainly won’t be able to. So I suggest you think very carefully on Mr. Collins’ offer.”

Melody wrenches her wrist from her grip, swallowing. “Thank you, Aunt Tabetha,” she says softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Despite Tabetha’s venom now, she knows eventually her aunt will calm down and be able to look at Melody without simmering resentment. Her temper is something she shares with Amy and while it burns hot at first, it’s gone just as quickly as it appears. She’ll never apologize, of course, but Melody has learned not to expect one by now. 

As she steps back into the house, Ramone is nowhere to be found. Probably off in his room licking his wounds in private and composing a flowery letter about his failure to his beloved Lady Kovarian. She’d expected to find her cousins still amusing themselves with her botched engagement, laughing themselves silly over Aunt Tabetha’s horror over the whole affair. Instead, they’re huddled on the staircase together. Pale and red-eyed, Amy holds a letter in her hands and Clara wraps an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. 

“Amy?” Melody approaches them quickly, skirts in hand. “What’s the matter?”

Amy doesn’t reply but Clara takes the crumpled letter from her limp hands and waves it in the air with a scowl. “This just arrived from that uppity bint Missy. She says she’s going back to London for the winter with her brother and her nephew. Apparently, they aren’t planning on coming back.”

“What?” Melody snatching the letter from Clara, frowning as she scans Missy’s hastily scribbled note. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Rory leave? Amy, that man _loves_ you. Anyone with eyes could see it.”

“Apparently not.” She finally looks up, still leaning against Clara, her eyes wet and her nose red. Melody feels her heart clench at the sight of her. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

Melody sinks onto the staircase on the other side of her distraught cousin, gathering Amy into her arms. As she murmurs soothing words into Amy’s soft red hair, it occurs to her that she will probably never see John Smith again. She swallows thickly, forcing away thoughts of her well-used copy of _Paradise Lost_ , of the way his hand in hers made her _aware_ of her own body in ways she never had been before, and thinks: _Good riddance_. 

-

Resting her back against a towering oak on the very edge of the Pond estate, Melody plucks another blade of grass to add to the crown she’s making for Lizzy. The horse grazes only a few feet away with Jack’s steed, enjoying the rare sunshine as much as their riders. Melody in particular is overjoyed to be out of the house and away from the somber atmosphere hanging heavy over the family. Between Rory Williams leaving town, the gossip Clara had heard just this morning about Lady Ashildr courting some other young woman called Miss Tyler, and her own refusal of Ramone, there isn’t much to smile about. Aunt Tabetha in particular is in a foul temper. 

“I still don’t understand it,” she says, frowning as she threads the blade of grass into a small knot. “Though I suspect his sudden escape to London had something to do with his horrible Aunt Missy. Probably didn’t think Amy was good enough to marry into her obnoxiously wealthy family.”

Lounging on his back beside her, Jack stares up at the canopy of leaves overhead and hums evasively. “Maybe.”

Melody pauses, eyes narrowed. “What?”

He shrugs, avoiding her gaze. “I just think you should take Amy’s natural flirtatiousness into consideration. No offense, sweetheart, but at just the ball at Pandorica the other night I saw her making eyes at Jeff, Cleo, and her own reflection.”

“What of it?” Melody frowns, bristling a bit in defense of her cousin. “She’s just friendly. You know how she is — she rarely means anything by it.”

“ _I_ know that and _you_ know that but does our dear Mr. Williams?” Jack lifts his head, squinting at her in the afternoon sunshine. “Maybe he mistakenly got the impression that Amy is just a flirt. Maybe he thought she wasn’t serious about him and his affection for her was one-sided.”

“Well then he’s blind.” Melody scowls, refusing to think too closely on what Jack is saying. It will do little good to understand what went wrong anyway. Rory Williams is gone and he’d taken his snooty aunt and uncle with him. “She was absolutely smitten with him. Far more than I’ve ever been or ever hope to be with anyone. I was sure she was the one who’d be getting a proposal, not me.”

Jack looks away again and in the quiet of the outdoors, Melody hears him swallow. “About that,” he ventures, and for the first time in the entire time she has known him Jack actually sounds hesitant. “I brought you out here because I need to tell you something and I thought it would be best to give you a place to scream.”

Melody arches an eyebrow, intrigued. “Something naughty on your mind, dear?”

“You know I love a good innuendo, Miss Pond, but now isn’t the time.” Jack sighs, pushing himself into an upright position. He ruffles his hair to dislodge a few stray blades of grass and dandelions; and as he does so Melody notices the way his hand shakes. 

Abandoning the crown she’s working on entirely, Melody stares at him fearfully. “Not the time? Jack, you once made an innuendo in the middle of my great grandmother’s burial.”

“Hey, your great grandmother would have laughed.” Jack grimaces at her rueful glance. “All right, so the old biddy had a terrible sense of humor but it made you feel better, didn’t it?”

“It did.” She swallows a smile as she remembers, folding her hands in her lap. “So the question remains: why isn’t now the time?”

Jack takes a deep breath. “Because Ramone proposed to me. And I said yes.”

She blinks at him, an incredulous smile curling her mouth. “Sorry, what?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart. It’s taken me the entire afternoon just to say it once.” Jack huffs a strand of hair from his eyes and watches her guardedly from beneath his lashes. “What do you think?”

Her mouth opens and closes — opens and closes again — but no sound comes out. Jack fidgets as he waits for her to speak and she’s never seen him quite so uncertain. She has known him nearly her whole life and Jack Harkness is usually the sort of man to charge ahead and do what he likes, damn what anyone else thinks. And every man thus inclined found that absolutely enthralling about him. They’re two halves of the same person, she and Jack. Best friends and partners in crime since the moment they met. Hearing that he has settled for Ramone of all people is like a blow to the stomach. Like watching herself make a terrible mistake and being unable to stop it. 

The first words to spill out of her mouth are, therefore, hardly encouraging. “Jack, why would you want _him_?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The arch of his brow is downright accusatory. “Because you didn’t?”

She almost blushes, shaking her head even though he’s exactly right. “I just don’t understand. I mean, it’s clear why Ramone would propose to you. You’re handsome and clever. You’re kind and generous and anyone would be lucky to have you. Or me.” She winks at him and Jack huffs out a weak laugh, still watching her uncertainly. “And you’ve made no secret of the fact that you find Ramone attractive but I certainly never thought you would entertain the idea of _marriage_ to him.” 

“Melody-”

She holds out a hand to interrupt him and he reaches across the space between them and captures her hand in his. “Jack, you deserve to marry someone you love.”

“Honey, you’re the romantic in this relationship. Not me.” Jack smiles ruefully, squeezing her fingers gently. “I see no reason why I couldn’t be as happy with Ramone as anyone else. True he’s a little dull and his small talk could use some work but he just needs training up.” He winks at her, smirking. “And I’m just the man to do it.”

Melody bites her lip, wavering. 

He sighs, bending his head to press a kiss to her wrist. “I need you to be happy for me, Mels.”

Jack stares at her imploringly, his handsome face etched with a desperation she so rarely sees from him. His cheeks are flushed pink from the sun and there are still a few blades of grass stuck in his hair. He’s beautiful, she thinks, using her free hand to press her palm to his cheek. And she’ll never believe he doesn’t deserve better than Ramone. Her own astonishment and reluctance aside, however, she sees a dear friend before her who needs her support. Whatever her feelings about this engagement, it doesn’t matter. What matters is Jack.

Mustering up a smile, she says, “I am happy for you, Jack. As long as this is truly what you want then I wish you both a wonderful life together.”

A wide, relieved grin spreads across Jack’s face and she knows instantly that she’d done the right thing. He doesn’t need her opinion, only her unwavering friendship. Just as he’s always had it. “Thank you,” he says, tugging gently on her hand until she leans across the distance between them and allows him to gather her close against him. Instantly, the scent of fresh grass and leather envelopes her. “So you’ll visit once we’re settled?”

Melody rests her head on his shoulder, letting him wrap his strong arms around her. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss seeing you domesticated.”

Jack smiles into her hair. “You know, I’ve heard my fiancé's neighbor Lady Kovarian is related to your Mr. Smith. Maybe you’ll run into him while you’re there.”

Melody ignores the skip of her heartbeat and pushes at his chest, leaning away to glare up at him. “Bite your tongue.”

He growls playfully. “I’d rather you did it for me.”

“I’m sure you would. Harlot.” Laughing, she tucks herself into his side again and says, “I’m going to miss you.”

With a sigh, Jack presses a kiss to her temple. “Me too.”


	5. some change of feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Smith rises from his chair the moment he sees her and his penetrating gaze rattles her now just as much as it always has. She stops short in the doorway even as Jack and Ramone greet Lady Kovarian cordially. Distantly, she hears them introducing Melody to their host but everything around her is muffled compared to the ringing in her ears. Hundreds of miles from home and equally far away from his winter residence in London, yet she still manages to run into him here of all places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody visits Jack and encounters an unexpected acquaintance.

_Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.”_

_Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice:_

_“Are you pleased with Kent?”_

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Thirty-Two**

* * *

When autumn arrives, bringing with it gray clouds and brittle leaves that crunch underfoot when Melody walks to the stables in the morning, a letter arrives in Jack’s neatly curling script. He tells her of the beautiful home in the countryside where he now lives with his new husband; the wide green pastures where he races the steed Ramone had given him as a wedding gift; and laughingly details the droll weekly dinners with their neighbor Lady Kovarian. Most importantly, however, he invites her to visit him. 

_Climb into a carriage the moment you get this letter,_ he writes, _and march your charming arse to Boeshane before I keel over from missing you._

While the atmosphere at Pond House has improved over the past months, with Clara and Amy both returned mostly to their usual high spirits and ridiculous antics, Melody can’t deny how appealing the thought of going away for a bit is. And she’s certain Aunt Tabetha, who has only just begun to thaw toward her, would appreciate some time apart. So she packs her bags, bestows a kiss on the cheek to Amy, Clara, Augustus, and dear Lizzy before she climbs into a carriage and departs for Boeshane Grove two days after Jack’s letter had arrived in the post. 

The trip is a long one but pleasant enough. The weather is still mild for the time of year and Melody cannot claim to dislike the peace and quiet that comes with having the carriage to herself. She enjoys taking in the air when the coach stops to rest the horses but otherwise spends most of the journey reading. She’d packed a few books for the trip, _Paradise Lost_ among them. She’d finished it months ago but the thought of parting with it for so long had been unthinkable. Its pages have grown soft and worn from use and its spine loosened. It’s a lovely edition, worth far more than she could hope to afford for something so frivolous. She supposes that’s why she keeps it so near, reluctant to let anything happen to it. 

The afternoon she arrives at Boeshane Grove, the dashing couple waits for her in the yard. As Melody greets them with a smile, she can’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they look together. Separately, they’re both lovely to look at but together, they’re stunning. Jack looks flushed and happy as he releases Ramone’s arm to pull her into a hug. He wraps his arms around her and Melody notices with amusement that he feels a little softer than he had the last time she’d hugged him. Marriage clearly agrees with him. 

“It’s so good to see you, you gorgeous thing.” Jack squeezes her tight and Melody laughs when he lifts her off the ground, neither of them caring a whit for propriety. She clings to him, breathing in his familiar smell. She hasn’t been parted from him for so long since they were children. “I’ve missed you like hell.”

“Mutual, dear.” Melody presses a kiss to his cheek, smiling at Ramone over his shoulder. “You’re both looking well.”

“He’s overfeeding me,” Jack grumbles, finally releasing her. “Four courses every night. It’s practically abuse.”

Ramone looks suddenly shy. “Just trying to make sure you’re too lethargic to run away, my love.”

“Never.” Without releasing Melody’s hand, Jack leans across the distance and presses a smacking kiss to his husband’s cheek, murmuring, “The food is too good. Among other things, of course.”

Ramone flushes. 

Staring at them in bewildered silence, Melody realizes that they’re bantering. Well, Jack is bantering and Ramone is doing his best to keep up but even so — they’re _flirting_. She had never imagined boring Ramone capable of such teasing, with his practiced compliments and abominable dancing. She should have known a few months in Jack’s company would corrupt even the most hopeless of cases. 

“Well,” Ramone says, still looking pink-cheeked. “I’ll just take your bags inside and let the two of you catch up.” He glances at Jack, as though for approval, and seems relieved when Jack nods once with a grin. Fidgeting, Ramone smiles uncertainly at Melody. “It’s good to see you, Miss Pond.”

Still mystified, Melody smiles distractedly. “And you, Ramone.” With another shy smile directed at his husband, Ramone picks up her bags and carries them toward the house. Once he disappears inside, Melody turns to Jack with a conspiratorial grin. “My, my — _someone_ has been training his new pup. I hardly recognize him.”

Jack grins proudly. “Told you I was the right man for the job.”

She laughs, leaning into his broad chest. “You’ve made a believer out of a skeptic, dear.” She nudges him fondly, waiting for him to meet her gaze. “I’m glad you’re so happy, Jack.”

“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”

“And,” she adds with a sly smile, “I’m looking forward to this famous four course dinner.”

Jack laughs out loud, releasing her only to grab her hand and tug her in the direction of the house. “Actually, you’re in luck. Lady Kovarian invited us to dine with her tonight.” He glances at Melody as she walks by his side, wearing that devilish grin of his. “Six courses. Loosen your corset, sweetheart. You’ll need the room.”

-

Trenzalore Park is like something out of a medieval fairytale, palatial and sprawling. As she approaches the estate, walking across the immaculate lawn just behind Jack and Ramone, Melody can’t help but tug sheepishly at her gown. It’s made of a green silk fabric that shimmers golden in certain light and it was a birthday present from Amy a few years ago. Though it’s the finest gown she owns and Jack had assured her she looked lovely, there is no getting rid of the feeling that she’s vastly underdressed. She feels as though she’s about to visit Buckingham Palace wearing her nightgown. 

Melody has never been one to bow to a thing like insecurity, however, so she squares her shoulders as a butler answers the door and shows them into the house. She walks into the parlour with Jack and Ramone, determined to meet the famed Lady Kovarian with her head held high. She stops fussing with her dress and once she looks up, she realizes with a jolt of dread that they aren’t the only guests at Trenzalore for the evening. 

John Smith rises from his chair the moment he sees her and his penetrating gaze rattles her now just as much as it always has. She stops short in the doorway even as Jack and Ramone greet Lady Kovarian cordially. Distantly, she hears them introducing Melody to their host but everything around her is muffled compared to the ringing in her ears. Hundreds of miles from home and equally far away from his winter residence in London, yet she still manages to run into him here of all places.

“Mr. Smith,” she finds herself saying, and she suspects by Ramone’s startled glance that she had interrupted him mid-compliment. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes drift briefly from her face to take in her dress and Melody fights the urge to tug at it again, watching as something strange and heated flits across his face. She stares at him, struggling to comprehend the expression, but it’s gone again in seconds. Finally, he replies curtly, “I’m a guest.”

“You know my nephew?”

Melody forces her attention away from John and finds a severe-looking woman with dark hair and glittering eyes watching her with a frown. She has a cruel mouth and there is something cold in her manner that sets Melody’s teeth on edge. She wears an elaborate gown, the bodice of which is encrusted with dark jewels, and Melody can only assume this woman is Lady Kovarian. First impressions can indeed be deceiving but Melody is a woman who has learned to trust her instincts. And absolutely nothing about Lady Kovarian puts her at ease. 

“Yes,” she replies guardedly. “I had the pleasure of meeting him over the summer.”

Lady Kovarian says nothing, watching her like she can see into her soul.

A soft, scornful laugh startles Melody into glancing away from the sinister lady of the house. The sight of Missy Smith standing just behind John’s shoulder only puts her further on edge. She hadn’t had many interactions with the woman in Leadworth but the few words she had deigned to utter in Melody’s direction were mean-spirited and derisive. Melody unconsciously straightens her posture, spine stiffening under her icy gaze.

“Missy,” she greets, forcing a polite smile. “Something on your mind?”

“You called meeting my brother _a pleasure_.” Her mouth twists into a mocking frown and usually the sight of it would raise Melody’s hackles. The familiarity of Missy’s passive contempt for her is very nearly welcome now; a breath of fresh air after looking at Lady Kovarian for even a moment. “He does go on and on about you and I do tend to stop listening after the first ten minutes but I think I’d remember if he’d listed _outrageous liar_ among your many _ickle_ virtues.”

Melody blinks at her, bewildered.

Watching her through his fingers and looking utterly mortified — which only further astounds Melody — John says with a sigh, “ _Missy_.”

Missy offers him an exaggerated wink clearly meant to further rile him. “I’d add it to the list, dear.”

Completely lost, Melody decides the best course of action is likely to ignore them. She pastes on a fake smile for Missy, whose deepening amusement seems to suggest she sees it for the ruse it is, and says, “I suppose the definition of pleasure depends on one’s point of comparison.” She tilts her head, eyes sliding back toward John briefly. “For example, I would hardly call a toothache a pleasant experience but when compared to having a hand cut off, one might call it a pleasure. Meeting your brother was a bit like that.”

Behind her, she hears Jack stifle a snort. 

Missy tips her head, apparently satisfied. 

Lady Kovarian purses her lips in disapproval. 

And John Smith pinches the bridge of his nose and says with suppressed laughter in his voice, “I’m a toothache, am I?”

Melody smirks, ducking her head in a useless attempt at remembering her manners. “Painful to endure-”

“And hard to ignore?” A slow, wicked grin curls his mouth. It brightens his whole face, softening his severe features into something almost friendly. 

Melody barely manages to refrain from gaping. “Indeed.”

Dinner is an elaborate affair. The table is nearly the length of the entire room and each place setting is equipped with fine china, crystal glasses, and more silverware than Melody knows what to do with. A candelabra in the center of the gleaming table provides just enough light to see the impressive spread of food that has been prepared. Chestnut soup, roast duck, vegetables drowned in a rich butter sauce, a trifle, strawberries, and iced oranges among other delicacies. Above their heads, a glittering chandelier provides even more candlelight. Lady Kovarian sits at the head of the table, presiding over the lavish feast like a monarch.

Though she tries to sit next to Jack, in the hope that perhaps he can whisper in her ear when she’s using the wrong fork, Kovarian holds up an imperious hand. “I’d like you nearer to me, Miss Pond, so that we may become better acquainted.”

Melody freezes, casting Jack an incredulous glance. 

He shrugs, hiding a smirk, and mouths an apology.

She holds in a sigh, abandoning her chair to move around the table where John Smith and his sister sit. Trading seats with either of them would still leave her in the unpleasant company of the other and for a moment, she can’t decide which of the siblings she would rather be forced to endure for six courses. Before she can make up her mind, Missy gives an annoyed huff and vacates her seat with an elaborate, mocking little flourish. Reluctantly, Melody sinks into the chair beside John and Missy traipses round the long table to take the spot next to Jack. 

As the first course is served and the pleasant murmur of conversation begins around them, John dips his spoon into his soup and doesn’t look at her as he says, “Your family is well, I hope.”

“Yes,” she lies, thinking of Amy. Her cousin insists she’s fine, that she doesn’t even think about Rory Williams anymore, but Melody knows her too well. She’s still heartbroken, behind that sunny smile. “And your daughter, Mr. Smith?”

John pauses and it’s absolutely fascinating to watch his whole face soften at the mention of his daughter. “She’s quite well, thank you. As frightfully inquisitive as ever.”

She hums, bringing a spoonful of chestnut soup to her lips. “A trait you would never encourage, I’m sure.”

“Of course not,” he says, pursing his lips and raising his brows. “I’m quite strict with her.”

Thinking fleetingly of Lady Ashildr and her love affair with John’s daughter, ended abruptly by John himself, Melody suddenly feels like the worst of traitors. Between their polite conversation now and the banter between them when she’d first arrived, she has been far too friendly with a man who had made so many miserable. Filled with guilt, she turns away and keeps her eyes on her soup. 

Thankfully, Lady Kovarian addresses her before the silence between them becomes awkward. “Do you play the pianoforte, Miss Pond?”

“Yes,” she reveals, grateful for the distraction. “But I’m afraid I’m out of practice. I’ve always liked being out of doors instead. Horseback riding is my great love, I think.”

Beside her, John turns his head to stare. “You like to ride, Miss Pond?”

Remembering with a flash their conversation at Pandorica Manor, when he had confessed what he was looking for in a partner, Melody almost blushes. She had entirely forgotten their exchange until now. And she had been so determined to hide how closely she matched his description. The last thing she wants is to be suitable enough for a snob like John Smith. “Very much,” she confesses reluctantly. 

He opens his mouth to say something else but Lady Kovarian interrupts impatiently. “Do you draw then?”

Melody lifts a spoonful of soup to her mouth. “Not at all.” 

With a frown, Lady Kovarian demands, “What did your governess teach you?”

“I had no governess.”

On the other side of the table, Missy mutters something suspiciously like _that explains it_ into her soup.

“No governess?” Lady Kovarian laughs and the sound is brittle and dry, like dead leaves on the wind. “Three girls brought up at home and no governess? Your mother must have been overwrought.”

“Not at all, Lady Kovarian. Madam Vastra, my godmother, made certain I was well-educated.” Melody forces a smile, dipping her spoon back into her soup. “And Tabetha Pond is not my mother but my aunt. My parents died when I was a child and the Ponds were kind enough to take me in.”

Lady Kovarian makes a startled noise in the back of her throat, her dark eyes studying Melody intently. “Heavens, what a financial burden you must be to your benefactors, Miss Pond. Nearly thirty, I would imagine, and unmarried.”

Stiffening, Melody drops her spoon into her bowl with a clatter. She feels John brush his arm against hers as he shifts in his chair beside her but she cannot be certain it was on purpose — some silent show of comfort offered by a friend. Surely not. John Smith has shown time and again he cares nothing for her feelings. She steels herself, drawing in a breath to reply to Lady Kovarian. 

“But she doesn’t look a day over twenty-five,” Jack cuts in, and she nearly wilts in relief at the sight of his familiar, wide grin across the table. For a moment, she had forgotten she is indeed among friends. Even if she can’t include John Smith in the category. “What the young suitors don’t know won’t hurt them. Right, Mels?”

She throws him a grateful glance and turns back to their host. “I’m not afraid of being unmarried, Lady Kovarian. I’ve never been of the mind that matrimony is the ultimate aspiration for a woman.”

“You’re awfully opinionated for one so young,” Lady Kovarian observes with a frown. 

Choosing to ignore the disdain in her voice, Melody replies brightly, “Thank you, my Lady.”

“Tell me,” Lady Kovarian continues, swirling the wine in her glass. “Who will look after you when your generous aunt and uncle are dead? When you are an old maid and no one will have you?”

Beside Jack, Missy coughs delicately to cover a snort of laughter. She straightens again almost at once, casting her brother a glance that looks oddly apologetic. “Anyone else finding the soup a bit salty?” She reaches for her wine, glancing around the table. “No?”

“Surely you must feel some sense of obligation to marry soon,” Lady Kovarian goes on relentlessly, ignoring her niece entirely. “Lest you burden your family and — in the future when they’re no longer providing for you — to prevent yourself from either starvation or work as a scullery maid.”

John’s arm brushes hers again and this time, Melody knows the quiet action had been on purpose because he looks up from his bowl for the first time since Lady Kovarian’s interrogation began. He meets her hard stare, his jaw clenched so tightly Melody sees a muscle in his cheek twitch. “Enough,” he says, his voice a soft, commanding growl. “You forget your manners.”

Melody purses her lips together to keep her jaw from dropping. John Smith just stood up to his overbearing, nightmare of an aunt for her. She stares at him, astonished, and has the bizarre urge to get up from the table, walk outside, and check to see if pigs are flying. 

Lady Kovarian blinks, studying him as though she’s never seen him before. It’s the first moment Melody has felt a kinship with her since they met. Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Everyone else around the table says not a word, staring awkwardly at their food and clearly wishing to be elsewhere. Well, except for Missy, who appears to be enjoying herself. After a moment of tense silence in which she and John stare stonily at each other, Lady Kovarian finally turns back to her soup and says mildly, “You’ll play the pianoforte for us after dinner, Miss Pond.”

Baring her teeth in a smile, Melody says, “As you wish, my Lady.”

After a decadent dessert and marginally less awkward conversation, they retire to the parlour. The men share cigars and brandy and though Melody eyes both longingly, she doesn’t dare smoke or drink under Lady Kovarian’s watchful eye. She has little doubt the woman would have something unpleasant to say about that as well and having spent all evening biting her tongue, Melody fears she could not continue to do so with a strong scotch loosening her inhibitions. 

Instead, she moves across the vast drawing room to the exquisite pianoforte. Tucking her skirts beneath her, she settles onto the bench and stares at the sheet music laid out before her. It’s been quite a while since she bothered to practice and she spends a moment trying to familiarize herself with the music notes before she begins. She fumbles almost instantly as her fingers touch the keys and though she grimaces, she doesn’t look up to see if anyone has noticed. 

The chatter around her continues uninterrupted, Lady Kovarian’s voice rising above all the others as she dominates each conversation. Melody does her best to tune her out. Something about that woman’s voice sets her teeth on edge. The more she focuses on the song she’s playing, the more her old skills return to her. Her fingers fly over the keys as her eyes skim the music notes, the tune spilling from her fingertips with ease. 

“I thought you said you played poorly.”

She stiffens, recognizing the voice instantly. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees John Smith standing at her side and watching her play. She doesn’t turn her head to look at him, keeping her eyes on the sheet music. “I said I was out of practice. And if you’re trying to intimidate me by standing so close, I must warn you I am not so easily unsettled.”

He scoffs quietly. “I know you well enough to know no one and nothing intimidates you, Miss Pond.”

Melody almost fumbles the notes again, turning her head to stare at him curiously. “That almost sounded like a compliment, Mr. Smith.”

Under her watchful gaze, his mouth twitches reluctantly. “I meant it as one.” He settles a glass of brandy beside the sheet music and pushes it invitingly toward her. “After that frightful dinner, I thought you deserved something a bit stronger.”

“I - yes.” She reaches for the glass, still playing with one hand. John angles his body just enough to hide her from Lady Kovarian’s eyes as she sips discreetly. “Thank you.”

He grunts in acknowledgement, reaching for the glass. Their fingers brush as he takes it back and Melody looks away, feeling the brandy go straight to her head as she turns quickly back to the piano keys. “I was wondering-”

“Are you flirting or is it safe to come closer?” Missy strolls up to them with her skirts in hand, swishing them girlishly around her ankles. Her smile almost reaches her eyes and Melody can’t help but stare, wondering when she’d grown a personality outside of _vieux riche_. She stops beside her brother and drapes herself across the piano, eyeing Melody with interest. “So,” she says with a casual sniff. “Auntie K has a bit of a stick up her-”

“ _Missy_.”

She frowns at her brother, shrugging. “What? S’true.”

Melody hides a smile, inexplicably warmed by what is probably the closest to an apology Missy has ever come in her privileged life. She’d expected Missy to agree with Lady Kovarian but for even her to be uncomfortable with the interrogation during dinner, perhaps there’s more to Missy than meets the eye. “I don’t mind.” She shifts into a tune a little quieter and less lively. “She said nothing I haven’t heard from my own aunt from time to time.”

John frowns, staring into the remainder of the brandy in her glass. 

“Bad luck, kitten.” Missy steals the drink from her brother, taking a generous gulp before handing it back without so much as a flinch. Melody begins to suspect she might have misjudged the younger Smith sibling. No true snob can swill brandy like that without choking. “Is that why you’re so good at sparring with dear old Auntie? Lots of practice?”

“Something like that,” she says, glancing between brother and sister meaningfully. “And I’m quite used to terrible manners in your family.”

Missy looks pleased, sketching a half-hearted little curtsy. “Happy to be of service.”

John clears his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt and looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Are you keeping a list of all my sins, Miss Pond?”

“Of course not,” she lies brazenly, smirking. “I’m far too charitable in nature to hold you accountable for petty grievances.” She wrinkles her nose, still stroking her fingertips over the piano keys. “Well, aside from the dancing. I cannot forgive you for refusing to dance on our first meeting.”

Melody could swear his cheeks have turned rather pink under her scrutiny but it’s likely just the candlelight playing tricks. Men like John Smith don’t blush and they certainly aren’t shamed by the words of a woman of her stature. He leans in closer, the sleeve of his dinner jacket brushing her shoulder. She draws in a breath and holds it. “You may enjoy being the center of attention, Miss Pond, but I do not converse easily with people I don’t know. Nor do I dance with them.”

It’s only when he pulls away that she manages to relax. “I’m not sure I believe you,” she teases, raising a brow. “Considering you know me now, Mr. Smith, and yet you still seem to struggle.”

John smirks. “Perhaps you’re just intimidating, Miss Pond.”

“More compliments?” She steals back her brandy, her fingers lightly touching his as he lets go of the glass. “You may be getting the hang of this after all.” 

He looks away, pursing his lips against a smile. 

-

In the morning, Jack and Ramone go into town together and invite Melody along. While she’s missed Jack terribly in the months he’s been settling in here, she declines. Ramone has certainly improved under Jack’s tutelage, but the air between them is still rather awkward and she doesn’t fancy an afternoon trying to make conversation with him. His rejected proposal still hangs heavy in the air between them. Besides, a few hours of peace and quiet sounds rather appealing. 

So with the men of the house out for the afternoon, Melody secludes herself in the parlour with a cup of tea and one of the books she had packed for the trip. It’s been an age since she’s been allowed to sit somewhere comfortable and read uninterrupted. Usually Amy or Clara will drag her away after a few chapters or Aunt Tabetha will chide her for keeping her nose buried in a book rather than practicing some “useful” skill like embroidery. 

The afternoon shadows grow long and her tea sits abandoned beside her, cold and tepid as the story she reads consumes her. Melody tunes out everything around her — the bustle of maids walking to and fro in the corridor, the sound of birdsong through the open window, and the neighing of horses in the barn outside. She hears only the whisper of paper as she turns the page, lost in the horrors of Victor and his Creature.

Distantly, she hears the sound of the front door opening but she only assumes it must be Jack and Ramone finally back from their trip. She doesn’t even look up at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, sinking further into the settee cushions as she flips to the next page. “How was town?” She calls out. “Did you buy anything expensive for me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Her breath catches. The book slips from her fingers and hits the floor as she scrambles to sit up and straighten her gown. “Mr. Smith,” she says, climbing to her feet. She touches a hand self-consciously to her hair, clearing her throat. “What are you-” She remembers her manners at the last moment, forcing a smile. “Hello.”

He bends to pick up the book she had dropped but he doesn’t try to hand it back to her. In fact, he seems eager to keep a certain amount of distance between them. He moves to the fireplace and settles the book on the mantle. “The Modern Prometheus,” he murmurs, reading the cover. “You have excellent taste in literature, Miss Pond.”

“Thank you.” She wrings her hands, watching him lean against the mantle and stare into the flames. “Did you mean to visit Ramone and Jack? They should be back from town any moment.”

“No.” He keeps his back to her, frowning. “I didn’t come here to see them.”

_I came to see you._

He doesn’t say it but Melody hears it anyway. 

She breathes in sharply, staring at him. She wants to ask _why_ but her tongue seems stuck to the roof of her mouth. John avoids her gaze, his back ramrod straight and his shoulders a tense line. He works his jaw in silence and the quiet stretches taut between them. When it becomes unbearable even for her, she asks, “Would you like to sit, Mr. Smith?”

“I prefer to stand.” 

He turns away from the fire at last but only to begin pacing the length of the room. He moves like a wild animal caught in a trap, agitated and deadly. Waiting for the appropriate moment to strike out at his captor. He rakes his fingers through his gray hair, rumpling it beyond help. 

Melody smoothes a nervous hand over her dress. “I could ring for tea, if you like.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” 

His hands clench at his sides and he scowls at the floor as he paces. The entire time he has been in the room with her, he hasn’t once looked at her. He seems frustrated about something but he doesn’t seem to be in any mood to discuss it or even to be around people at all so she has to wonder what on earth had made him decide to come here. Watching him prowl around the parlour like a tiger in a cage, still ignoring her, Melody feels her limited patience with this man slipping away. 

“Mr. Smith.” She moves forward and steps into his path, halting his agitated progress. He sucks in a breath, his eyes finally settling on her face. They stand so close she can feel the heat of him against her and hear the way his breathing hitches when their eyes meet. “I don’t mean to be rude but is there a reason for your visit or did you come here simply to wear a path in the carpet?”

His face softens and the storm brewing behind his eyes lessens as they look at each other. His mouth opens. “I-”

“Mels? We’re back!”

The sound of Jack’s boisterous voice sends them both leaping apart, Melody moving to the fireplace to retrieve her book from the mantle and John turning his back on her to run his hand through his hair once more. Clutching the book to her chest, Melody glances at John over her shoulder and finds him scowling at the floor again. Her heart hammers in her chest but she clears her throat and manages to respond to Jack in a faint voice. “In the parlour, dear.”

As footsteps echo in the corridor, John moves quickly toward the door. He glances at her only once, his blue eyes conflicted. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Pond.”

He slips from the room just as Jack and Ramone walk into it, nodding curtly at them in greeting. Ramone turns to stare after him as John stalks down the hallway and out the front door. “Was that…?”

“It certainly was.” Jack grins, turning to Melody. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know.” She clenches her fingers around the spine of her book until her knuckles ache. “He just walked in, paced around a bit, and left again. He barely said a word to me.”

With a bark of laughter, Jack growls, “Melody Pond, you temptress. What have you done to our poor Mr. Smith?”

She shakes her head in bewilderment, moving to the window to watch John’s hasty retreat. “I have absolutely no idea.”


	6. in vain i have struggled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gazes at her like she’ll disappear any moment and he has to memorize her before he loses her forever. She wonders faintly if this is a new development or if he’s been doing it all this time and she just hadn’t noticed. He swallows, watching her with a furrow in his brow. “I’m asking for your hand, Melody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which John reveals his true feelings and Melody reacts poorly.

_“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”_

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Thirty-Four**

* * *

Rain falls in sheets outside Trenzalore Park but the occupants inside are warm, comfortable, and chatting over a few glasses of wine in the drawing room. Lady Kovarian had invited them for tea that morning before the rain began and since they had walked the short distance between Jack and Ramone’s residence and Trenzalore, they seem to be stuck until the weather relents. 

They’ve spontaneously divided into groups. Jack and Ramone are on the settee discussing current events with Lady Kovarian. Melody, who had been eager to be as far from that woman as physically possible, had challenged Missy to a game of chess in the far corner of the room. John Smith has secluded himself in a corner with a book, ignoring everyone else in favor of the page in front of him. Though she feels his eyes on her frequently, whenever Melody glances at him she never catches him looking back. 

“Your brother is a strange man.”

“Mmm and water is wet.” Missy frowns at the board, studying it intently. This is their second game and after Melody had won the last one in under three minutes, Missy begun to consider her every move a little more carefully. “Is there a point to this conversation or have we started a new game of stating the obvious?”

“No point, really. ” She watches Missy move left and bites back a smile, already considering her next move. “I just find him very difficult to understand.” One moment John perfectly amiable — she might even dare to call him pleasant — and then the next moment he’s insulting her, if he even speaks to her at all. Melody can hardly comprehend what’s going on in that head of his. “Don’t you think him baffling?”

With a delicate snort, Missy leans back in her chair and laces her hands together behind her head. “My brother is as much a mystery to me as my own reflection. I’ll grant you he does make a terrible first impression.” She rolls her eyes. “Terrible second impression too, come to think of it. Family trait, I expect.”

Melody reaches for Missy’s Queen and the other woman’s expression drops. “What about third impressions? Is he bad at those too?”

Missy smirks. “Possibly, if he finds you _enchanting_ enough.” 

“That isn’t-” She frowns, fighting back a blush. “I hardly meant-”

“Don’t strain yourself, kitten.” She laughs, quietly and without warmth. Though she has spent a few days in Missy’s company, Melody has yet to actually warm to her. She finds the woman far too mercurial in nature; teasing her good-naturedly one moment and snarling something rude the next. Melody has yet to figure out whether Missy actually likes her or not but that suits her perfectly, considering she hasn’t decided whether or not she likes Missy either. As if reading her mind, Missy confesses dryly, “Rory got all the charm in the family. We make do without, John and I.”

Melody freezes, her fingers curled tightly around Missy’s Queen. She hadn’t planned to bring up their missing nephew, no matter how she itched to know where he is and why he had left her cousin without even a proper goodbye. If Missy is going to bring him up first, however… “How is your nephew? In good health, I hope.”

“Well enough now that he’s stopped moping like a sad puppy.” Missy snorts, icy blue eyes flickering up from the chessboard and lingering on Melody. It’s impossible not to stiffen under that gaze. Melody steels herself for whatever is coming. “John had a hell of a time convincing him to leave Leadworth but London is full of amusements to distract the poor thing.”

“Oh?” Melody straightens in her chair. She hasn’t forgotten that mere months ago, she’d strongly suspected Missy to be the mastermind behind Rory’s sudden disappearance from Pandorica Manor. “Why did he need convincing?”

Missy lowers her gaze to study the chessboard again but it’s clear her attention isn’t truly on it. A tiny smirk curls the corners of her mouth. With an innocence Melody doesn’t believe for a moment, she confesses, “Oh, fancied himself in love, the wee lamb. It would have been a disastrous match, of course. The girl had little fortune and no connections. And a rather embarrassing family, as it happens.” Missy glances up again, her eyes wide and twinkling with mischief. Melody curls her hands into fists, overcome by the urge to lean across the table and slap her. “Good thing John convinced him to leave before the little tart trapped him into a union, hmm?”

Melody stares at her, stiff with fury. Her chest aches and she cannot decide if her eyes have begun to water out of despair or anger. She can think only of Amy, who had smiled with such softness when she talked about Rory. Amy, who had insisted she was fine no matter how many times Melody asked. Amy, who climbed into Melody’s bed every night anyway and cried herself to sleep for a week. Rory Williams had broken her heart. And apparently, John Smith is the reason why. 

Missy sits across from her with a face carved out of stone, clearly waiting for some sort of outburst. The urge to run overwhelms Melody so suddenly that she doesn’t realize she’d decided to stand until she hears her chair scrape harshly against the floor and Missy tips her chin up to look at her. An amused smile curls her red mouth. “Alright, kitten?”

Melody hears herself speak as if outside her own body. “Perfect. I just need some air.”

She can feel John watching her from across the room and it’s all she can do to keep from marching up to him and telling him exactly what she thinks of him and his abominable sister. Feeling her cheeks heat with fury, she grits her teeth and struggles not to snap. She will not give Missy the satisfaction of knowing she’s upset her. She turns on her heel and stalks from the room, clinging desperately to her remaining dignity. 

Rain still pours down in buckets outside but she pays it no mind, stepping out into the downpour and marching determinedly away from the suffocating Trenzalore Park. She can’t stay there in the same house with those people for one more moment. Her hair and her clothes are soaked almost instantly but she’d endure a hurricane if it meant getting away from John and Missy Smith. 

The cold rain and the chill in the air is a welcome respite, though it does little to cool her temper. She walks quickly, fuming all the while. So caught up is she in her own indignation, Melody doesn’t even notice anyone is following her until she hears someone call her name. 

“Miss Pond — Melody-”

She stops, turning slowly to face him. John is as soaked as she is, his hair sticking to his forehead and his finely tailored suit clinging to him like a second skin. What on earth had possessed him to follow her, she has no idea. Just the sight of the man who had ruined the happiness of so many makes her blood boil. She blinks rainwater from her eyes and glares at him, hands balled into fists at her sides. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“What are you doing out here?” He asks over the pouring rain. “You’re going to catch your death.”

“I’ll be fine,” she snaps. “Forgive me, but I want to be alone, Mr. Smith.”

“I need to speak with you.” He moves forward and she stumbles back a step, the saturated ground soft beneath her feet. “I tried to yesterday but I couldn’t get the words out and then we were interrupted — hell, I came to visit my Aunt simply because I heard you would be here and I wanted to see you. I can’t bear it any longer.”

She shakes her head, wondering what in hell he’s going on about and desperately wanting him to just _go away_ before she loses her temper entirely _._ Any desire to cling to her manners is rapidly puddling at her feet along with the rain. “What do you want, John?”

“Your family is ridiculous and embarrassing but I don’t care. Your inferior circumstances mean you have nothing whatsoever to offer in terms of a dowry. No money, no land, no social status. I don’t care. You are the most improper, outrageous woman I’ve ever met in my life. You say and do whatever comes to your mind with no thought for how it might look or sound to others. _I don’t care_.” He runs a hand through his slick hair, blinking rain from his eyes as he looks at her. His jaw clenches briefly. “None of it matters anymore. I beg you, Melody Pond, to put me out of my misery.”

Torn between anger over the part of that speech she did manage to comprehend and bewilderment over the parts she can’t begin to unravel, Melody stares at him. “I don’t understand.”

He sighs and even over the rain, she can hear how it trembles. “I love you, damn it.” The words slip out like he’s choking on them. Like he’s been holding them in his mouth for months. Melody stills, gaping at him in silence. “Most ardently.”

He - _what_? Melody opens her mouth. Closes it again. There’s a voice inside her screaming at her to say something but she can only stare at him in stunned silence. She knows she must be looking at him like he has suddenly sprouted an extra head but there’s _nothing_. Not a single word comes to mind. For a long moment, the only sound is the rain pounding against the ground and hitting the trees. 

John gazes at her like she’ll disappear any moment and he has to memorize her before he loses her forever. She wonders faintly if this is a new development or if he’s been doing it all this time and she just hadn’t noticed. He swallows, watching her with a furrow in his brow. “I’m asking for your hand, Melody.”

The words snap her back into focus. There are suddenly so many words on the tip of her tongue she has trouble choosing which to say first. John Smith had just proposed. John Smith had just proposed _to her_. In quite possibly the rudest manner imaginable. Melody looks away at last, drawing in a shuddering breath. Her heart slams against her ribcage. She licks her lips, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I’m sorry to have tormented you so, Mr. Smith. You must believe it wasn’t my intention.”

He blinks at her, astonished. “Is that all you have to say?”

_Not even close,_ she wants to say. _So don’t push it_. 

“Yes.”

“Do you mock me, Miss Pond?”

“Not at all.” She manages a strained smile. “But not to worry. If your feelings have been wounded, I’m sure the things about me which have hindered your regard will help you in overcoming your pain.”

His eyes narrow. “May I ask why I’m being rejected so curtly?”

“I don’t know,” she says, struggling not to outright snarl at him. She bares her teeth in a mad approximation of a smile. “May I ask why you ever expected any other reply when you just proposed by telling me you like me against your better judgement?”

His mouth opens and closes soundlessly. “No, that wasn’t what I-”

“But even if you hadn’t asked for my hand the same way one might ask to be given the plague, I _still_ would have said no.” She tips back her head, glowering up at him. “And I’m sure you know exactly why.”

John Smith stares at her with the same look of poleaxed bafflement that had been hers only a few moments ago. Melody cannot help but find grim satisfaction in returning the favor. “I assure you I don’t.”

She steps closer, looking up into his eyes through the rain falling heavy between them. “Do you think anything could ever tempt me to accept the man who has ruined, possibly forever, the happiness of my dearest cousin?” When he only stares at her, she presses, “Do you deny it, Mr. Smith? That you separated a young couple who loved each other?”

He stiffens. “I don’t.”

“How could you?” She shakes her head, tears stinging her eyes. “Have you no heart?”

“Actually, I was trying to look after my nephew’s heart,” he confesses, and Melody hates how unrepentant he sounds. “I thought your cousin indifferent at best and a complete flirt at worst.” 

She draws in a breath. “Excuse me?”

“I watched them carefully,” he says through gritted teeth. “And it didn’t take a genius to see that my nephew’s attachment was stronger than hers. She’d have batted her eyes at anyone in the room — and did, in fact.”

“That’s just Amy,” Melody snaps, bristling. “She doesn’t mean anything by it-”

“Even Rory was easily persuaded she didn’t feel strongly about him-”

“Because _you_ suggested it, you complete pillock!”

“I did it for his own good.”

“And Amy cried herself to sleep for a week so congratulations on rescuing your poor nephew from someone who loved him,” Melody snarls. “But I suppose you think she was crying over the loss of his fortune.”

“No.” Rain pours relentlessly around them and his hair drips water into his eyes. John scrubs a hand over his face and frowns like he’s realized he might have made a mistake. “I suspected her of flirtatiousness, not cruelty.”

Melody wraps her arms around her middle, trying in vain to ward off the chill beginning to seep through her clothes and into her skin. Her teeth begin to chatter. “And what of Lady Ashildr?”

A sudden coldness settles over his features like a frost and when he steps closer to her, Melody has to fight not to move away from him. “ _Lady_ Ashildr,” he hisses. “What of her?”

Melody juts out her chin. “What excuse do you have for your treatment of her? She told me what you did to her.”

He scoffs. “Oh, I’m sure she was only too happy to tell you everything.”

“You broke her heart. And the heart of your daughter. Yet you stand here and speak of it with sarcasm and ridicule.” Melody shakes her head, disgusted by him. “It seems you have a habit of breaking up happy couples, Mr. Smith. Perhaps because you’re such a lonely, bitter old man that it causes you pain to see others in love.”

His eyes soften, though not with affection. There is pain in his gaze Melody wouldn’t have thought him capable of feeling before now. “This is your opinion of me, then?”

“No, there’s one more thing.” She needs to stop. She _knows_ she needs to stop now before she says something unnecessarily cruel but now that she has found the words, there is no keeping them leashed. Her head is filled with Amy again, brokenhearted and unable to smile about anything for weeks. John confiding in his nephew that Melody is nearly past marriagable. Aunt Tabetha telling her the same thing every single day, glaring at her like she should be thankful for any proposal that comes along. John chasing her out into the rain just to inform her what a terrible match she is for him because she happens to be poor and has a tendency to speak her mind. Perhaps if she speaks her mind one more time, he’ll see that she is certainly not the one for him. “From the very first moment we met, your arrogance and conceit, your complete disregard for the feelings of others made me realize you were the last man in the world I would _ever_ marry.”

She doesn’t realize how close they’re standing until John draws in a pained breath. They’re so close she could brush her hand against his. So close she can see the undeniable sadness lurking in his eyes as he studies her. She stares up at him, chest heaving and heart pounding in her ears loud enough to drown out the rain. As it dawns on him just how much she truly hates him, he sways toward her almost helplessly. His mouth forms the word _please_ but she never actually hears it leave his lips. 

She stares at his mouth, fascinated. John reaches out a trembling hand to touch her cheek and she doesn’t move, though she has no idea why not. She feels entranced — fully incapable of moving a muscle as John Smith looms over her with that desperately hopeless look on his face. Like with her words, he has lost everything. 

His fingertips trace the apple of her cheek, sweeping away rainwater tenderly. She feels her breath catch painfully in her throat and when her eyes feel in danger of fluttering closed against her will, every part of her overwhelmed by the thick silence between them and the warmth of his touch, he drops his hand. 

“Forgive me, Melody Pond,” he finally rasps. “For wasting your time.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks back in the direction of the house, leaving Melody shivering in the rain — aching with something she doesn’t even understand. 

-

“What in God’s name possessed you to go running out into the rain anyway?” Jack tucks the blankets in around her, tutting under his breath like Aunt Tabetha might as Melody sneezes into her handkerchief. “Having hot flashes already?”

“Oh shut up,” she grumbles, curling into a ball in a weak attempt to get warm. “I feel rubbish.”

“And so you should,” he says, and she wonders how he manages to scold her with only a raised eyebrow. “But don’t worry, peaches. Uncle Jack will have you feeling right as rain in no time.” He makes a face. “Poor choice of words, considering how you got like this, but you know what I mean.”

Melody glowers weakly, tucking her chin beneath the quilt. 

A soft knock at the door puts a stop to any further bickering. Ramone steps into the room with the air of someone who knows he’s interrupting. Melody can only marvel at his ability to carry himself like a walking apology. Cradling a cup of tea and an envelope, he brings both to her bedside. Settling the cup of tea on the table beside her, he says, “Drink up. It probably tastes terrible but it’ll make you feel better.”

Eyeing the cup dubiously, Melody mutters her thanks and does not reach for it.

Jack rolls his eyes at her, nudging his husband gently. “What’s the envelope, handsome?”

“Oh, I forgot.” Ramone holds it out to her. “It’s for Melody. Mr. Smith dropped it off just now. Apparently he and his sister are leaving this afternoon.”

“He’s leaving?” Melody struggles to sit up, suddenly not caring how bloody cold she is or even about Jack’s incredulous stare as she pushes aside the blankets. She reaches out a hand and snatches the letter from Ramone, gripping it tightly. “Did he…say anything?”

Ramone frowns, shaking his head. “Only that the letter was for your eyes only.”

“Ooh scandalous.” Jack grins, leaning in to peer at the envelope. Melody crawls back to the warm spot she’d abandoned, tugging the blanket over her and the envelope. Funny, she feels oddly protective of a letter written by a man she hates. She decides it must be because if the letter says anything about his proposal, Jack will never shut up about it. “Come on, share with the class. What does Mr. Ten Thousand A Year have to say to you and you alone, Melody Pond?”

Ramone tugs gently on his arm. “Come on, dear. Let’s give her some privacy, all right?”

In all the time she has known Ramone Collins, Melody has never felt more grateful to him. With a sigh, Jack allows himself to be manhandled up and out of the room. “Fine.” He points a threatening finger at her as he closes the door behind him. “This isn’t over, Pond.”

Melody sticks out her tongue at him. The moment she’s alone, she huddles beneath the blankets and tears open the letter eagerly. 

_~~Melody~~ ,_

_Miss Pond,_

_Let me begin by reassuring you that I will not attempt to renew the sentiments that were so ~~despicable~~ disgusting to you yesterday. You have given me your answer and I shall respect it. I would, however, like to address the two offenses you laid against me. Despite what you may think of me, I am not some villainous wretch in a fairytale. _

_My daughter met Lady Ashildr on holiday in Bath when she was fifteen, where it was no doubt spread around that Bill was to inherit nearly forty thousand pounds. Lady Ashildr courted her passionately, pursued her like a bloodhound with a scent. I had my doubts about her but my daughter was so smitten that I did not voice them._ _However, when Lady Ashildr came to me and requested my daughter’s hand in marriage I made it clear to her that although I would give my consent, she would never receive even a single shilling of Bill’s inheritance. She disappeared after that without a word to Bill. I’m sure you can imagine the depth of my daughter’s despair._

_As for the matter of your cousin and my nephew, I did indeed persuade Rory away from Amy. I did not deny it yesterday and I will not attempt to excuse my actions except to say that I was trying to keep someone dear to me from getting hurt. I truly did not believe your cousin’s attachment to be deep enough to affect her so. Clearly, I misread the depth of her affection and for that, I apologize._

_One last thing, if you’ll allow me. You made it clear at our first ball in Leadworth that you overheard what I said to my nephew about you. Though you have been generous enough not to bring it up again, it has weighed heavily on my mind ever since. I cannot take back the offensive things I said but you must know that I did not mean them. While it is by no means an adequate excuse, those things were said simply as a weak defense against the ~~devotion~~ adoration I had already begun to feel. Please know that no matter your feelings for me, I will always think you the loveliest creature I ever beheld. ~~Forgive me.~~_

_Yours,_

_John Smith_


	7. a motive of goodwill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can feel the curious eyes of her godmothers on her and struggles to come up with something that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous but will keep them from stepping foot anywhere near Arcadia. “I just don’t want to go,” she says, still avoiding their eyes. “John Smith is just so…” So what? Arrogant? Apparently not, just rather bad at coping with a developing crush. Cruel? She’s recently learned he isn’t that either — only a protective father who had saved his daughter from a money-hungry scoundrel and a loving uncle who thought he was doing his nephew a favor. Weakly, she finishes, “Rich.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody sees John again, meets Bill, and gets some unwelcome news.

_But above all, above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of goodwill which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude; gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection._

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Forty-Four**

* * *

Sitting beneath a tree by the side of the road with her lunch balanced on her lap isn’t exactly how Melody had pictured the trip going when Vastra and Jenny had invited her to tour the Gallifreyan countryside with them. They don’t often visit Leadworth due to finding Tabetha as insufferable as Melody does but Vastra and Jenny have always taken their duties as godparents very seriously.  They’d been close friends with her parents before they passed and though they’ve never said it outright, Melody has often gotten the impression her godmothers had wished to raise her themselves. It pains her to think of how different her upbringing might have been with them as her guardians, encouraging her independent nature rather than trying to stifle it. 

Therefore it’s always a treat when she gets the opportunity to spend time with them. She couldn't pass up a chance to see them before returning to Leadworth. Her godmothers had been thrilled by her surprise visit, insisting she accompany them on a quick trip before departing again for home. None of them had planned on the carriage losing a wheel in the middle of the trip. 

As the coachman had scurried off to fetch a replacement, the three of them had decided to settle beneath the shade of a towering oak to shield themselves from the afternoon sun. Jenny had been the one to pull out a picnic basket and now Melody leans her back against the trunk of the tree and munches on an apple. The air is stiflingly warm and despite the shade, sweat has begun to bead on her brow and form beneath the bodice of her dress. She fans herself with her abandoned bonnet, silently cursing corsets and petticoats and whoever had invented them in the first place. 

Overhead, birdsong fills the trees and in the distance she can hear the rushing water of the nearby river. Taking another bite of her apple, she contemplates stripping out of her gown and dipping her toes into the blessedly cool water. Perhaps after lunch, if she can persuade Vastra not to be scandalized. 

“Where are we, anyway?” She asks, squinting up at the leaves overhead dappled with sunlight. “Are we near Olyesti?”

Vastra shakes her head, studying her map carefully. “I believe we’re closer to Arcadia.”

Melody freezes, clenching the apple in her hand. “Isn’t that…John Smith’s home?”

“Hmm.” Vastra’s eyes flicker up from her map. “Yes. Why?”

“No reason.” Melody glances away, sinking her teeth viciously into her apple.

Jenny leans over her wife, peering at the map with sudden interest. “Arcadia, you said? I’ve heard it’s gorgeous.” She glances at Vastra, biting her lip hopefully. “I’ve always wanted to see it. Can we go after the new carriage arrives, dear?”

Melody chokes on her apple, coughing until Vastra reaches out and pats her on the back. “I’d rather we didn’t,” she finally says when she can speak again. “Anywhere but there, please.”

“Why ever not?” Jenny frowns. “I’ve heard he has the finest horses in the county. Thought you’d like to see that, Mels.”

With a shrug, Melody grips her apple in her fist and studies the grass rippling in the hot breeze. She can feel the curious eyes of her godmothers on her and struggles to come up with something that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous but will keep them from stepping foot anywhere near Arcadia. “I just don’t want to go,” she says, still avoiding their eyes. “John Smith is just so…” So what? Arrogant? Apparently not, just rather bad at coping with a developing crush. Cruel? She’s recently learned he isn’t that either — only a protective father who had saved his daughter from a money-hungry scoundrel and a loving uncle who thought he was doing his nephew a favor. Weakly, she finishes, “Rich.”

Jenny snorts. “Blimey, he can’t help it, Mels.”

Eyeing her strangely, Vastra folds up her map and tucks it away into the pocket of her skirt. “We’ll go to Arcadia after Strax returns with the carriage. Not to worry, Melody. Wealthy men like John Smith are rarely at home. You most likely won’t even have to see him.”

With a sinking feeling of dread in her stomach, Melody stands quickly and tosses aside her apple. “Fine, but I’m not going to sit here and bake in the sun while we wait. Anybody fancy a swim?”

Vastra sighs. “You don’t have a suit.”

Melody smiles. 

When Strax returns with a new carriage, Melody pulls herself out of the river and wrings the water from her hair. The dip in the cool water had renewed her entirely. Though she knows her hair will frizz and the freckles are probably already starting to appear on her sun-browned cheeks, she feels more prepared to venture onto John Smith’s estate. 

More than likely, Vastra is right, as she always seems to be, and John probably isn’t even at home. Rich men like him are always off somewhere else, aren’t they? Staying for months at a time at the large estates of their friends and family, having endless parties and playing cricket in the middle of the night like they haven’t a care in the world. 

Feeling more at ease, Melody wrings the water from her chemise and picks up her gown from where she’d draped it over a large river rock. As she slips into it, Vastra stands up the hill beside the carriage and watches her with fond exasperation. “Are you quite through making a spectacle of yourself?”

Melody climbs the short embankment to reach her and then promptly shakes her wet hair in Vastra’s face. As she cries out in surprise and bats her away, Melody grins. “You’re just jealous you’re too proper to join me.”

“Heathen,” Vastra mutters under her breath, shooing her into the carriage.

Melody blows her a kiss. 

As their new carriage trundles slowly up the narrow drive to Arcadia, Melody has to bite down on her lip to stifle her gasp. It’s _breathtaking_. The house itself is very grand, with its noble stone exterior, tall windows, and embellished turrets. It sits before a shimmering lake with elegant swans floating gracefully across the surface. On either side of the stately mansion, there are exquisitely manicured gardens and beyond that a dense, lush forest. It reminds Melody faintly of Trenzalore Park but far less gaudy. Instead, Arcadia is simply beautiful. 

Just as Jenny had promised, there are stables too just to the east end of the sprawling estate. The moment the carriage slows to a stop, Melody leaps out and picks up her skirts. All worries over running into John Smith vanish as she hears the soft neighing of horses. She smiles, hurrying across the grounds in the direction of the stables without waiting for her godmothers to follow. 

The scent of fresh hay and the unique smell of horse hits her the moment she steps into the stables. She closes her eyes, breathing it in. She hasn’t had this feeling of _home_ since she left Leadworth weeks ago. What a strange change of circumstances that she feels this sense of peace while standing on John Smith’s property, of all places. 

When she opens her eyes again, exhaling slowly, the first thing she sees is a gorgeous black steed in the closest stall. He’s staring at her with kind brown eyes and it’s clear from his shining coat and intricately braided mane that he’s very well cared for. As she steps closer, Melody spots the wildflowers tucked carefully into the dark braid and she smiles, reaching out a hand to let him sniff her. 

“Hello there,” she murmurs, stroking his muzzle. “You’re someone’s favorite, aren’t you?”

“You’ve got that right, Miss.”

She yelps, her heart pounding as she whirls around. 

A stocky fellow with a bald head and glasses grins at her, wiping his hands on a towel. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. But you’re right — that horse is Miss Smith’s particular favorite.” He snorts softly and Melody relaxes, amused. “He’s a spoiled creature if there ever was one.”

She hides a smile, imagining John Smith’s daughter doting on her horse. Probably a gift from her father, the soft touch. Letting the horse nuzzle her neck, she says, “Nothing wrong with that.”

The stocky fellow — probably the stablehand, Melody assumes — huffs. “You sound like the master of the house.”

“Melody?” Vastra stands in the doorway with Jenny on her arm, frowning. “You know this man?”

“Only just now.” The stablehand steps forward, waving. “I’m Nardole.”

“Work here, do you?” Jenny brightens, squeezing Vastra’s arm. “Any chance you’d give us a tour, Sir?”

Though Melody is reluctant to leave the stables behind, she casts the beautiful black steed one last glance before following her godmothers and Nardole toward the main house. It’s even more impressive up close. With intricately carved stonework and the window frames highlighted with gold leaf to catch the sunlight, it looks like something out of a storybook.

As Nardole shows them into the immense foyer, Melody stares at the glittering chandelier overhead and the winding, thickly carpeted staircase leading up to the second floor. With moldings over the doorframe and elaborately painted baroque on the ceiling, the house practically _smells_ of money. And yet it doesn’t feel cold and austere the way Trenzalore Park had. It still feels like a home. As they pass one of many drawing rooms, Melody peers into it and feels as though she could curl up on the settee in front of the fire and be perfectly comfortable. 

Nardole leads them up the stairs, droning on about the library. Melody tunes him out, unable to stop herself from wondering what it might have been like to be mistress of such a house. If she had said _yes_ to John when he asked for her hand, it might have been her proudly giving her godmothers a tour of the estate rather than Nardole. When she imagines living here with John Smith, there is none of the fear that had been so prevalent when she imagined a future with Ramone. 

With the misunderstandings between them explained away and the air cleared, her view of John Smith has changed almost overnight. While he’s certainly still socially awkward, the poor idiot, she sees him now as someone who can make her laugh easily and with whom she can have real conversations. The more she thinks on him, the more she realizes he’s exactly the sort of man who would suit her perfectly. Handsome and clever and so much kinder than she’d realized. Of course, now that she’s told him she wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth, she very much doubts that her changed feelings matter a bit. 

Even knowing the hopelessness of her situation, it’s impossible not to imagine a future with John Smith as she wanders the halls of his home. A future in which there is mutual admiration and shared laughter; talking late into the night in front of the fire; the frequent light-hearted bickering she craves. She imagines having her own horse in the stables outside and perhaps challenging her husband to races through the forest beyond the house. As she remembers their confrontation in the rain, that heated closeness between them and the way her eyes had fastened on his mouth, she imagines something else altogether. Her mind flashes to passionate kisses and that low growl of his in her ear; his slender hands roaming the bodice of her dress — 

“What do you think, Melody?”

She breathes in sharply, blinking as the lurid images fade. Dazed, she glances up and finds herself standing in the doorway of a vast, richly furnished library. Uncle Augustus’ study seems a mere cupboard in comparison to this room, every wall lined with shelves up to the ceiling. She has never seen its equal. There are so many books it would take her a lifetime to read them all and the cozily lit room with its comfortable furniture and plush rugs invites her to do exactly that. She swallows, forcing her gaze across the room. 

Her godmothers stand with Nardole in front of a set of portraits hanging over the mantle. Walking slowly to join them, she forces a smile. “Sorry, drifted off for a moment. What was it?”

Gesturing to the portraits, Vastra asks, “Is it a true likeness of the master of the house?”

Nardole brightens. “You know Master Smith?”

_Not as well as I’d like_ , she thinks, recalling her interrupted imaginings. Outwardly, she smiles tightly and demurs, “Only a little.”

“What did you think of him?” He asks, a gleam in his eye. “I know he’s a bit difficult at first but I promise he grows on you. Eventually.”

Melody laughs softly, turning to stare at the portrait of John. “Oh, I know.” 

“Well?” Jenny asks slyly, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Is he that handsome in person, Mels?”

It really is a decent likeness. The artist had even managed to capture the certain twinkle John gets in his eye and the curl of his mouth when he’s about to say something shocking. There is kindness in that gaze too, emanating from those same intense blue eyes that always leave her off-kilter when he looks at her. Finding herself smiling at the portrait, an gnawing ache in her chest, Melody finally replies softly, “Yes, I suppose he is.”

Nardole gestures to the portrait beside the one of John — a young girl with a sweet face, her skin dark and her brown eyes wide and curious. “That’s his daughter, Wilhelmina.” He wrinkles his nose. “Course, everyone calls her Bill. He took her in when she was practically a baby. Her parents died and poor Bill was to be put into a workhouse but Master Smith wouldn’t have it. He’s raised her as his own ever since.”

Vastra and Jenny exclaim at her beauty and as Nardole goes on about her other virtues, Melody stares at the girl with a lump in her throat. This young lady might have been her stepdaughter. These two portraits hanging above the fire would have been pictures of her family. 

Distantly, she hears Nardole guiding Vastra and Jenny out of the library and toward the north wing of the house but Melody doesn’t move to follow. She has no desire to see anything else. Every room in this house makes her ache with loss. Not because the house is so grand and beautiful, though it is that. Every room reveals a new piece of John — a side to him she hadn’t been privy to before; a side she finds that she likes and wants to see more of; a side she has no right to see. Because she’d said no. 

“Do I _have_ to read Jonathan Swift? _Gulliver’s Travels_ is so bloody boring.”

“Language.”

Melody stiffens, her whole body going hot and cold as she hears the familiar sound of John Smith’s voice echo through the corridor outside. Oh no. _Oh dear God_. He isn’t off playing cricket on the coast after all. He’s _here_. She turns slowly to face the doorway but cannot bring herself to move another step, frozen in place with horror as the voices outside the library grow closer. 

“And yes, you do have to read it. If only so you can write a paper telling me exactly why it’s boring and what you would do to improve it if you’d been the one to write it.”

“Ugh, even _that_ sounds boring.”

John sighs. “Finish that book and I’ll get you that new set of paints you’re always going on about.”

A tall, willowy girl who looks exactly like the young lady in the portrait behind Melody wanders into the library laden down with books and papers. She doesn’t appear to notice Melody as she strides toward the sizable mahogany table in the middle of the room. “Didn’t you just tell me last week that bribery is beneath you?”

“So is begging,” John says, following her into the room. He looks more relaxed than Melody has ever seen him, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement at his daughter’s antics. His coat is missing and his waistcoat is unbuttoned, his shirt sleeves rolled hastily up to his elbows. Her mouth goes dry at once. She draws in a breath, feeling her heart climb into her throat and lodge there, choking her. “But I’m wiling to do that too if you just hush and get on with your schoolwork.”

Bill grins, depositing her supplies onto the table with a thud. She whirls with a wide, sunny grin on her face and throws her arms around John. “Best dad _ever_.” 

The smile slips from her face as she finally spots Melody standing completely still on the other side of the room and gaping at them like some sort of mute imbecile. Registering the expression on his daughter’s face, John turns to glance over his shoulder. Their eyes meet. In the quiet of the library, Melody is certain he must hear the exact moment she stops breathing. 

Though she expects and knows she deserves his displeasure at seeing her standing in his home uninvited, John surprises her. He lights up the moment he sees her, his whole face transforming as a wide grin stretches his mouth. She stares at him, transfixed. She’s never seen him smile like that before. He looks a bit mad. He looks beautiful. And then just as quickly as the smile had appeared, it’s gone. His brows furrow and his lips purse. His cheeks lose a bit of their color. It’s like witnessing a mass of gray clouds covering the sun. And she still can’t move. 

“Melody,” he says softly. “I - hello.”

She forces a weak smile and whispers, “Hello.”

It’s only as his gaze drifts from her face and along the rest of her that she realizes she must look like a complete lunatic. Her soaked chemise has seeped through the material of her gown, making it cling to her indecently. Her hair is a damp halo of frizz around her head and her skin is tanned an improper golden from her afternoon in the sun. She knows she must smell of the outdoors, like river water and sweat and horse. And she’s standing here in the middle of John Smith’s immaculate home, mere weeks after she’d rejected his proposal with venom. 

Mortification overwhelms her. Her cheeks flush and her eyes begin to sting with the devastating embarrassment of it all. She suddenly wishes for nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her, to save her from enduring another second of this humiliating agony. “I’m sorry,” she breathes, watching John frown in confusion. “I’ll just go.”

Without looking at either John or his daughter, she finally forces herself to move. She slips quickly past them and out the door into the corridor, silently cursing herself and her godmothers all the while. She should never have agreed to come here. _He won’t be home_ , Vastra said. _Wealthy men like him never are_ , she said. “Never bloody listening to her again.”

Her graceless escape attempt is thwarted in moments. She only makes it halfway down the hall before she hears John calling for her. “Melody, wait.” 

She stops, though she doesn’t turn around. Standing there with her hands clenched at her sides, she listens to the sound of his footsteps behind her. Even when he comes to a stop behind her, he doesn’t say anything. She can feel his eyes burning into her and she draws in a breath, cringing. “I didn’t realize you were at home,” she says, wringing her hands. “My godmothers wanted a tour of the estate. You must believe if I’d known you were here, I never would have dared-”

“Melody,” he says softly, and the sound of her name said so affectionately — by him, of all people — makes her bite her lip. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

She stills, frowning. “Really?”

“It’s good to see you.” He pauses and she can nearly _hear_ the smirk on his face. “Well, the back of you, anyway. Perfectly charming, I assure you, but I would like to look into your eyes now if you don’t mind.”

“Incorrigible,” she mutters, biting back a smile. She turns slowly to face him and sees instantly that she’d been right before. The smirk curling his mouth is positively smug. His eyes flicker over her form but he doesn’t ask. She plucks self-consciously at her skirts and explains anyway. “I went for a swim in the river.”

“Without a suit, of course,” he deduces, and the smile on his face grows into something achingly tender. “You’ve a fondness for being shocking, I know.”

“Yes,” she says, and wonders how this man she’d hated only a few weeks ago knows her so well. How had she missed the way he has always paid such particular attention to her? The way his eyes always follow her, carefully tucking away details no one else would even notice about her. He’d been so determined to make sure she didn’t see how he felt for her, she can hardly blame herself for missing the signs. “Anyway, I apologize. I must look-”

“Perfect,” he finishes, his eyes soft. 

Melody swallows, a pang in her chest as she looks away. 

John clears his throat, as though embarrassed, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as he struggles to school his face into something less obviously besotted. She bites her lip, wishing he wouldn’t try. “I understand if you’d like to leave,” he ventures hesitantly. “But if it’s agreeable to you, I’d very much like for you to come back to the library with me and meet my daughter.”

She looks up then, startled. “I’d like that.”

Bill is waiting for them when they return, sitting atop the table she’s meant to be studying at, her skirts arranged around her. The book she’s supposed to be reading sits balanced precariously on top of her head and when they walk into the room, she brightens at once and leaps to her feet. The book hits the floor and she steps over it without a glance. 

“You’re Melody Pond,” she says gleefully, grasping Melody’s hand tightly in hers. “I knew it the moment I saw you. He goes on about you so often I feel like I already know you.”

Melody laughs softly, glancing at John just in time to see him blush and glower at his daughter. “Is that so? Nothing good, I hope.”

“Depends on your definition of good,” he mutters, still looking flustered. “She probably recognized you by the heathenous light in your eyes.”

Bill snorts, tugging Melody away from him and toward a settee by the window. “Actually, it was the hair. Dead giveaway.”

“Ah, always is.” She toys with a fuzzy blonde coil, frowning. “I’m afraid it isn’t at its best just now. River water is hell on the hair.”

Grinning widely, Bill sinks onto the settee and pulls Melody with her. “Dad always makes me swim in the lake. He says the river currents are too dangerous. Have you ever gotten caught in a current? Is the river colder than the lake, do you think? Did you not wear a suit? Is that why your dress is wet?”

“Breathe, Bill,” John murmurs, eyes twinkling. “One intrusive question at a time.”

Bill huffs, flashing Melody an apologetic glance. 

“I don’t mind, dear.” Melody squeezes her hand, fondness for John’s curious daughter already growing within her. She stares into her wide brown eyes and wonders how Ashildr could possibly look into the same eyes and still find it in her to break Bill’s heart so thoroughly. “I did get caught in a current once when I was a child. My godmother saved me. The water was quite cold but it’s a hot afternoon so I didn’t mind. And I didn’t wear a suit but I don’t recommend it. I feel a bit like a drowned rat now.”

“Certainly don’t look it.” Bill flushes, as though realizing she’d mumbled that out loud. When Melody only laughs again, she relaxes. It’s quite clear right away that her mouth probably gets her into trouble often — rather like her father in that respect. “Dad tells me you like horses, Miss Pond. Is that true?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Melody beams, glancing out the window. “In fact, I was just admiring your stables. Nardole tells me you spoil that gorgeous creature out there.”

Bill grins shamelessly. “Puddle,” she says. “He was a birthday gift from my dad.” She brightens, casting her father a mischievous look. “Are you any good at riding, Miss Pond? People say my dad is the fastest rider this side of Gallifrey.”

Melody watches John visibly glow at the pride in his daughter’s voice and smiles. “Well that may have been true once, but I’m here now.”

As Bill laughs in delight, John arches an amused brow. “Care to prove that, Miss Pond?”

Melody winks. “With pleasure, Mr. Smith.”

They convene outside, where they run into Melody’s godmothers and Nardole. Vastra and Jenny, ever indulgent of her ridiculous whims, are only too eager to watch Melody best the master of the house. They follow them first to the stables and then to the field where John has determined the race should take place. Bill had been kind enough to loan Melody her dearest Puddle for the occasion. John’s own horse, a very stubborn creature called Darcy, has an immaculate gray coat speckled with white. Melody has to bite down on her tongue to refrain from making a comment about owners beginning to resemble their animals. 

Sitting astride Bill’s massive horse and gazing out at the rolling green field before her, Melody murmurs, “Are you sure you want to do this? I’d hate to see you humiliate yourself in front of your daughter.”

John snorts softly, climbing into Darcy’s saddle. “I think I’ll risk it.” He grunts and Melody glances at him curiously, frowning when she finds him struggling to imitate her side-saddle position. When he notices her looking, he scowls. “What? You don’t have riding clothes. It’s only fair.”

She laughs, watching him wobble. “I don’t need you to play fair, Mr. Smith. I’ll win regardless.”

He raises a brow, smirking. “Brazen words from a woman sitting on a Puddle.”

Standing on the sidelines with the others, Bill calls out, “Oi, we’re not getting any younger over here.”

John sighs. “On three, shall we?” At Melody’s nod, he begins, “One-”

Gripping Puddle’s reins, Melody digs her heels into the side of the horse and takes off like a shot. She hears John’s cry of outrage as he begins to follow and laughs out loud, turning her face into the wind. Puddle moves like a dream, hurtling across the field at speed. Flowers fall out of his mane as he runs, a few petals hitting Melody in the face and catching in her hair. 

“You’re a ruddy cheat, Melody Pond.”

She glances to the side, finding John already neck and neck with her. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little competition?”

“I handle competition just fine,” he shouts over the thundering of hooves. “When the competition plays fair. I rode side saddle for you.”

Melody grins. “Your mistake.” 

She pushes Puddle a little more, urging him forward. Puddle lowers his head and snorts, galloping faster. With her encouragement, they gain just enough speed to pull ahead of John. Melody grips the reins, turning to laugh into the wind as she races past him and careens into the line of trees designated as the finish line. With a swift tug on the reins, she pulls her horse to a slow trot and turns around to watch John come to a stop just behind her. 

“Well done,” she says, smiling unrepentantly. “Not a bad first effort at riding side saddle.”

She expects a bit of petulance, considering men hate losing and John had just lost on his own property and right in front of his daughter and a few guests. Instead, he only grins at her and says, “Not a bad effort from you either, considering you’re a cheat.”

Melody crinkles her nose at him. “I prefer opportunist.”

He scoffs, pulling his horse up alongside hers. This close, she can see the light of exhilaration in his eyes that mirrors her own. There isn’t a hint of resentment in his stare, only amusement and maybe even a bit of pride. And something else equally surprising; something darker that stirs her blood. She licks her lips, her fingers white-knuckled around her reins. 

“Call it whatever you like, Miss Pond,” he says, his voice low. She suppresses a shiver, forcing her eyes to remain looking into his. “But we both know you were afraid I’d beat you if you played fair.”

She hums low in her throat, watching his eyes flare with interest. “I’m not afraid of anything, Mr. Smith. Least of all an old man who probably spends most of his time indoors behind a desk writing letters to his accountant.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “Care for a rematch then?”

“You’re on.” She tilts her head, finally letting her gaze drop to his mouth. “And this time, I’ll let you have the head start.”

John leans forward and she’s transfixed by the flush in his cheeks. “Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Pond,” he says gruffly, and her breath catches when he reaches out a hand to her. As her lungs burn, he plucks a stray petal from her curls. “I won’t need it.”

Just when she feels in danger of falling out of her saddle if she leans any further toward him, John pulls away. He tugs on the reins of his horse and turns the animal around, trotting back to their audience and the starting line. Melody stares after him, her mouth dry and her heart hammering in her ears. He could have had her melting into his hands just then if he’d wanted and part of her wishes he _had_ wanted it. She can’t blame him for keeping his distance and he’s obviously trying to respect the feelings she’d made so clear to him before but _gods above_.

With a sigh, Melody clicks her tongue and murmurs, “Come along, Puddle.” She trots back to the starting line, preparing herself for another race with John. When she looks up, however, he’s out of his saddle and striding toward her. She slows to a stop at the edge of the field, frowning. “What’s the matter?” She teases, still exhilarated from the lingering effects of the race and his closeness. “Change your mind, old man?”

“Never. But you’ll want to see this.” John holds out an envelope to her, looking grim. “This was just delivered directly from the inn. It’s marked urgent.”

It’s a perfectly innocent looking envelope but something about the sight of it in John’s hands makes her insides clench unpleasantly. Filled with inexplicable dread, Melody slides slowly from the saddle, barely conscious of John’s gentle hand on her arm helping her down. She takes the envelope from him with a hand that shakes, tearing it open. Scanning the first line as the others surround her, she says, “It’s from Amy.”

She reads the letter quickly, conscious of her godmothers reading over her shoulder. Amy’s handwriting is nearly illegible and it takes her a moment to understand exactly what her cousin is trying to say but when she does, all the blood drains away from her face. Melody sways on her feet and John reaches out a hand in alarm, grasping her arm tightly. 

“Melody?” He peers at her worriedly, close enough to catch her should her knees give out. “What is it? Tell me.”

She swallows hard, crumpling the letter in her fist. “It’s Clara.” Eyes burning, she looks up and meets John’s gentle gaze. “She’s run away with Ashildr.”


	8. jealous of his esteem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an ache in her chest, Melody realizes her vain hope that perhaps John might someday renew the sentiments he’d made known to her that day in the rain have been forever dashed by this new blight on her family. She hasn’t heard from him since she’d fled home and she has no reason to expect to but it still feels like she’s fading away with every day she’s apart from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Clara comes home bearing a secret and Rory Williams returns to Leadworth in the company of his Uncle - John Smith.

_She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they should meet._

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Fifty**

* * *

The afternoon has turned humid by the time Melody walks into the house from the stables. She sheds her coat quickly, draping it over the banister as she climbs the stairs. The house is silent around her and it has been for days, ever since her hasty return from Arcadia. She still hasn’t quite gotten used to the unusual quiet — missing the sound of Amy and Clara bickering over a borrowed dress or Aunt Tabetha scolding Augustus for burying his nose in a newspaper and not listening to her. 

She’d arrived home three days ago to find Tabetha refusing to leave her bed, Amy growling furiously at everyone and everything, and Augustus hiding in his study with a bottle of sherry. It had made her yearn for the calm and support she had left behind at Arcadia. John had been such a comforting presence, gripping her arm and leading her back to the carriage when she’d insisted on going home immediately. 

“I should have exposed her a long time ago,” he’d said, clenching his jaw. “She’d have deserved nothing less after what she did to Bill. Maybe then Clara wouldn’t have fallen prey to her viperous machinations.”

Melody had shaken her head, fighting every instinct to lean into the warm reassurance of him at her side. “I knew the truth too. I should have written to Clara immediately.” To her shame, she hadn’t even thought of doing so. The last she’d heard of Ashildr, she was off wooing some shop girl in town and Clara had moved on to a young soldier called Danny. If she’d had any idea the two were still seeing each other — 

“Don’t blame yourself. Ashildr is the one truly at fault.” He’d squeezed her arm briefly but it did little to assuage her guilt, not when she could see the blame he clearly placed on himself lurking in his eyes. They’d stopped at the carriage and Melody had watched her godmothers climb hastily inside, wondering why she so badly wanted to linger. John had looked just as reluctant to see her go, releasing her arm slowly. His hand had dropped to his side, fingers flexing. “Have a safe journey, Miss Pond.”

“Thank you.” She’d smiled weakly. “For everything.”

As she and John had parted, Bill had slipped between them and thrown her arms around Melody’s neck, squeezing her tightly. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss Pond. I hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so too.” Melody had pressed a fond kiss to her cheek. “Goodbye, Bill.”

Now, she walks down the corridor past the room where Aunt Tabetha is still sequestered and reaches her bedroom. She spends most of her time now making sure her Aunt and Uncle eat properly and consoling Amy with meaningless platitudes. The house is silent for now and she takes advantage of the stolen moment of privacy to sink onto the edge of her bed. She lets out a sigh, staring out the window. It’s ridiculous to miss a place and a life she had for a brief afternoon so she pushes thoughts of John and his daughter out of her mind. 

Clara is the one she should really be worried about but she’s too furious with her at the moment.Amy had detailed in her letter the note Clara had left them all before sneaking out in the middle of the night. Something along the lines of _gone to Gretna Green with Ash, back soon, love Clara_. Idiot girl. Even if Lady Ashildr had been a perfectly respectable match and not a complete scoundrel, who in their right bloody mind runs off in the middle of the night to get married if one of them isn’t pregnant?

Not to mention, knowing what sort of person Ashildr truly is, Melody has little doubt that marriage to Clara is the last thing on her mind. Clara has nothing to offer her — no status, no fortune, no influence at all in society. She’ll take advantage of her and then disappear. And once word gets out that Clara’s virtue has been compromised, no one else will marry her and her reputation and that of her family will be forever marred. It’s complete rubbish, of course, but it’s the way the world operates. And Clara, the reckless girl, knows that. 

Melody glares out the window. “Stupid, inconsiderate — What were you thinking?”

Through the trees out her window, she catches a glimpse of flaming red hair as Amy runs full tilt toward the house. She moves like hell itself is at her heels, skirts hiked up and an envelope clutched in her hand. Melody jolts to her feet, already out of the room and clamoring down the stairs as the front door slams shut. 

Out of breath and red in the face, Amy hollers, “Oi, there’s a letter from Vastra!”

Melody reaches the bottom of the stairs just as Uncle Augustus pokes his head out of the study. Aunt Tabetha bursts out of her bedroom, red-eyed and sniffling, still dressed in a nightgown despite the late afternoon hour. “What does she say?” Tabetha asks, taking the stairs two at a time. “Did she find Clara? Is she alright?”

Amy ignores her mother, handing the letter to Melody instead. “Open it,” she says, and indicates her trembling hands. “I can’t.”

Ripping open the envelope as the rest of the family crowds around her, Melody unfolds the letter and scans it hastily. Vastra’s usually impeccable handwriting is barely legible and Melody knows she must have dashed off the letter quickly, probably while on horseback. Her eyes land on the words _found_ and _married_ , and she breathes out a shaky sigh. “She found Clara and Ashildr,” she tells them. “They weren’t married when they were discovered but they are now.”

Aunt Tabetha lets out a cry of relief and sinks onto the bottom step in a heap, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Uncle Augustus doesn’t look quite as relieved, taking off his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he lifts his head, he and Melody exchange a fretful glance. “How much, do you think?”

With a solemn shake of her head, Melody guesses, “Not a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. She’d be very foolish to agree to any less.”

“Hang on, what do you mean?” Amy frowns, watching Augustus take the letter from Melody to read it himself. She crowds him, reading the letter over his shoulder. “Explain.”

Melody sighs. “Ashildr would be completely daft to marry Clara without some sort of compensation. Considering we have nothing to offer her, Vastra must have paid an extraordinary sum to get her to agree to a wedding she probably had no intention of going through with in the first place.”

“So she should,” Tabetha says, looking up from her handkerchief at last. “Vastra and Jenny have no children of their own and more than enough money to spare.”

“If you’ll recall, they chipped in quite a bit for my education,” Melody snaps. “But that is hardly the point, Aunt Tabetha. We owe her a debt. One we can never repay. She single-handedly saved the reputation of our entire family.”

She turns away in disgust and as she stalks back outside toward the stables, she hears Tabetha sigh happily, _Imagine, my Clara — a married woman_. It’s the last thing she hears before she slams the door shut behind her. The humidity is still suffocating but anything is better than staying in the house and listening to Tabetha nattering on about finally having a married daughter. She should be used to her Aunt’s complete disregard for pretty much anyone else but it’s difficult when she knows Vastra had paid the price. 

“Hello, Lizzy,” she says as she walks back into the stables. “Miss me?”

Lizzy snorts, shaking her mane. 

With a pout, Melody teases, “I see. You only love me when I’m hiding sugar in my pocket.”

She sinks onto the wooden bench just outside Lizzy’s stall, biting back a smile when she immediately feels Lizzy sniffing the top of her head. Tabetha will never do it so she resigns herself to writing Vastra a letter of thanks for everything she’s done for them — from going immediately to Gretna Green upon hearing the news of Clara running away to paying Ashildr to go through with the marriage, Vastra has gone above and beyond her duties as Melody’s godmother. 

With how quickly and quietly things were taken care of, no one will ever know that Clara’s nuptials could have been a scandal in the making. If only she hadn’t opened the letter in front of John. Even he wouldn’t know. Not that Melody believes him to be the sort to spread gossip. Rather surprisingly, she finds that she trusts him to never breathe a word of it. But she wishes he didn’t know, all the same. His good opinion means far more to her these days than she’d have ever imagined. What must he think of her family now, when he’d already revealed to her once how ridiculous he found them?

“You alright?”

Melody glances up sharply, forcing a smile when she sees Amy standing in the doorway. “Always. Sorry about-” She waves a hand in the general direction of the house and Tabetha. “I just don’t have much patience for her these days.”

Amy sighs. “You and me both.” She ventures a little further into the stables, offering a hopeful smile. “But…Clara is married. That’s good, right?”

“It’s better than being seduced and cast aside, I suppose,” she concedes, shrugging. It won’t do any good to tell Amy everything she’d learned from John about their new sister-in-law. At least one of them should be capable of being in the same room with the girl without wanting to throw things and that certainly won’t be Melody. 

Settling on the bench beside her and swatting playfully at Lizzy when she tries to eat her hair, Amy reaches for her hand. “I suppose it’s one of us next, yeah? Mum is always saying once the first sister is married off, the rest follow pretty fast.”

Mouth twisting into a wry smirk, Melody says, “Well technically you’re not my sisters so I’m exempt from that particular curse.”

Amy nudges her. “Maybe I’ll join you and we can be old maids together.”

Only Melody, who knows her better than anyone, can see the look in her eyes for what it is. She still misses Rory terribly, even if she’ll never say it out loud and will deny it vehemently if Melody dares to suggest it. So she only squeezes her hand and says, “There’s no one else I’d rather grow old with, dear. But I’m afraid you’re destined for something else.”

Amy frowns. “And what’s that?”

“To make some lucky fella fall madly in love with you and produce lots of ginger babies.” Melody laughs when Amy grimaces dramatically, reaching out to pat her cheek fondly. “Can’t be helped with a face like this.”

Swatting her away much like she’d done Lizzy, Amy rolls her eyes. “And what about you? You’ve got a face too, you know.”

“Oh but this face is much better off alone. That’s fine by me, though.” Melody thinks fleetingly of John, of the hazy future she’d imagined when wandering the halls of Arcadia. The lie slips off her tongue with difficulty, “I like it better that way.”

-

When the newlyweds arrive for a brief visit before their holiday to the sea, Melody spends the majority of her time avoiding them. She eats breakfast quickly before Clara or Ashildr have risen, packs herself a small lunch, and wiles away the afternoon hours out on the moors with Lizzy and a book. Dinner is the only time she simply can’t avoid them but she keeps her eyes mostly on her plate and when her mouth isn’t full of food, she bites her tongue to keep from saying a word. 

Clara and Ashildr seem happy enough, holding hands beneath the table and exchanging quick kisses when they think no one is looking. Amy gets along with their new sister-in-law just fine; Uncle Augustus appears entirely unchanged by the whole ordeal; and Aunt Tabetha is bloody well over the moon about the entire thing. Melody, however, finds it difficult to forget that the two of them are only married because Vastra paid Ashildr or that Ashildr had callously broken sweet Bill’s heart. 

Two days into their stay, Clara seeks her out. 

“Planning to avoid me forever?”

Without glancing up from her book, Melody says, “No, just until the end of your stay. Silly me, I thought sitting in a tree in the middle of the moors would be far enough away.”

Peering up at her through the branches, her skirts whipping around her in the wind, Clara smiles. “It’ll take a lot more than that to keep me away. Mind if I join you?”

“Apparently I can’t stop you.”

With the quickness for climbing trees that she’d learned from Melody when they were children, Clara sits on the thick branch alongside her in moments. She swings her legs, smiling wistfully out at the landscape laid out before them. “Haven’t been up here in ages. Remember when we used to hide from Mum during that horrible phase with the German lessons?”

Melody feels her lips begin to curl up despite her determination to stay distant and angry. “Remember when she finally discovered our hiding place? You gave us away, as I recall.”

Clara gapes at her. “Because you pushed me out of the tree, you wicked thing!”

Laughing softly, Melody says, “Aunt Tabetha broke your fall. Though for a moment I did suspect we’d killed her.”

Bursting into giggles, Clara leans into her side and rests her chin on Melody’s shoulder. “God, I’m going to miss this. You’ll write, won’t you?”

Melody sobers at once, the smile fading from her face as quickly as it had come. This isn’t just any day reminiscing in their old hiding place. Clara will be leaving soon — with a wife Melody doesn’t like and furthermore doesn’t trust. She sighs, turning her head to let her lips brush the top of Clara’s head. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

“I know.”

“You were very stupid.”

“I know.”

“What were you thinking, running off like that? There was absolutely nothing to guarantee Ashildr would marry you.” Melody draws in a breath, vibrating with fury the longer she thinks on it. She’s been holding everything in for so long — things she hasn’t even told Amy — and out here in the stillness of the moors, she feels it all come pouring out. “I know things about your wife. Very unfortunate things you may not be privy to. She’s cruel and heartless and ambitious to the point of cutthroat. And above all that, you put _my godmother_ in a position where she felt obligated to pay your dowry to keep us all from ruin.”

With a sigh, Clara lifts her head from Melody’s shoulder. She clasps her hands in her lap and stares quietly toward their home in the distance. It’s nothing but a speck from here but Clara stares at it like she can see Amy and Tabetha hanging clothes out on the line to dry and Augustus smoking his pipe on the front steps while sharing the newspaper with Ashildr. “I’m not an idiot, you know,” she finally says. “I’m perfectly aware of the sort of person I’ve married.”

Melody turns her head sharply, staring at her. “And what sort of person is that?”

“The sort who seduces young women in hopes of obtaining their fortunes.” Clara shrugs, smiling faintly. “But I’m terribly fond of her. She’s quick and clever and she won’t expect fidelity from me — just as I won’t expect it from her. We’re suited for each other. And she likes to travel so I’ll get to see the world like I’ve always wanted.”

_How can you marry someone you don’t even trust?_

It’s the only thing Melody can think of but she knows better than to say it. She’d learned long ago that very few people share her idealistic imaginings of what a marriage should be. Most women just want financial security and a companion they can tolerate into old age. Melody has never been able to stomach the idea of settling. 

For some reason, she’d thought Clara above it too. It’s a disappointment to find out otherwise but that’s something she can contend with, so long as Clara isn’t walking blindly into this marriage. And apparently she’d married Ashildr with her eyes wide open. It’s less than ideal but she knows it’s all she can expect from someone as practical as her cousin. 

Not noticing her quiet musings, Clara rushes on, “And you’re wrong about Vastra too. She wasn’t the one-” Her eyes widen and she falls silent at once, grimacing. “Bugger. Forget that bit. I’m not supposed to breathe a word. He made me promise.”

“Who made you promise?” Melody asks, turning so quickly her book topples from her lap and falls. It hits the ground with a _thunk_ but she barely hears it, staring intently at Clara. “You might as well tell me or I’ll just write to Vastra and find the truth anyway.”

Clara groans. “Fine but you can’t say anything.” She glares at Melody, pointing a finger at her. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Melody lies. “Tell me.”

“It was John Smith who found us at an inn just outside London.” Clara bites her lip. “I was honestly beginning to wonder if Ash did mean to marry me like she said but then he showed up. He was angry - like properly furious. Made Ash promise to marry me and then he paid for the wedding and everything.” She wrings her hands together on her lap. “He was the one who paid my dowry, Melody. Not Vastra.”

Turning her face abruptly away, Melody stares unblinkingly toward the rocky cliffs in the distance and wills her eyes to stop watering. He hadn’t done it for her, she tells herself. This has nothing at all to do with her and she’s embarrassingly sentimental to even entertain the thought for a moment. John had paid Clara’s dowry because he’d known firsthand what that sort of heartbreak and scandal could do to a young girl. He hadn’t wanted Clara to be jilted like his own daughter had been. 

He’d done it because it was the kind thing to do and Melody has slowly come to realize that’s exactly who John Smith is. Just kind. If it had been anyone else other than Melody’s cousin, he still would have done the same thing. He’s a good man, despite his efforts to convince her of the contrary. Far too good for Melody and her ridiculous family, especially now that said family includes Lady Ashildr — a woman he absolutely despises. 

With an ache in her chest, Melody realizes her vain hope that perhaps John might someday renew the sentiments he’d made known to her that day in the rain have been forever dashed by this new blight on her family. She hasn’t heard from him since she’d fled home and she has no reason to expect to but it still feels like she’s fading away with every day she’s apart from him. 

She _misses_ him. She misses his sly grin and the warmth of his hand on her arm; the way he’d always had a clever retort waiting on the tip of his tongue. She misses his daughter and the easy camaraderie she’d felt with her after just moments in her company. Hell, she even misses their silly stablehand Nardole. Quite simply, she misses how at home she had felt at Arcadia in just one afternoon. 

Clara flings her arms around her neck, startling Melody out of her reverie completely. “Say you’ll write to me,” she says, her smile against Melody’s cheek. “Or I won’t let go.”

Melody scowls, trying valiantly to push her away. “Let go or I’ll push you out of this tree again.”

“Then I’ll just bring you with me.” Clara holds on stubbornly. “Say you’ll write to me. _Say it_.”

With a huff, Melody growls out, “Fine, I’ll write to you. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Clara presses a smacking kiss to her cheek and still doesn’t let go, clinging to her. 

Melody sighs, hiding a smile. “Idiot girl.”

-

When the time finally comes for Clara to depart for the French Riviera with her new wife, Melody feels a little guilty for being relieved. She’ll miss her cousin, who has been a part of her life since she came to live with the Ponds as a small child. Clara has always been there — scheming with her at balls to dance with the handsomest men and the prettiest women, plotting ways to drive Aunt Tabetha to the brink of one of her fits, sneaking into Uncle Augustus’ study in the middle of the night to drink his whiskey.

It wouldn’t be easy to let Clara go under normal circumstances but it’s rather more difficult knowing the sort of person she’s leaving with. Clara is a grown woman now, however, and she’s made her choice. Melody has no option but to respect it, no matter how much she might disagree with it. So she hugs her cousin goodbye, promises again to write, and tries to find solace in the knowledge that at least she won’t have to look at Ashildr again for quite a while. 

Beside the waiting carriage, Aunt Tabetha squeezes Clara tightly and makes a dramatic production out of her goodbyes. Though it’s difficult to make out most of her words through the sobbing and sniffling, Melody manages to decipher the general meaning. Tabetha will miss Clara terribly but is so proud to have a married daughter at last, which she considers the pinnacle of success for a woman. 

Nauseated by the whole display, Melody crosses her arms over her chest and does her best not to roll her eyes too often lest she be caught at it. When she feels a presence at her side, she stiffens at once. Tabetha is still blubbering and Uncle Augustus stands just behind her, halfheartedly patting her back in a weak attempt at comfort. Amy stands just beside him, awaiting her turn to bid her sister goodbye. There is only one person missing from their little group. 

Melody clenches her jaw, refusing to turn and look at her. “Have I offered my congratulations yet? Quite a feat, seducing a beautiful girl of little means and still managing to get — what did you end up with? Ten thousand pounds? Not bad, all things considered.”

“Don’t be bitter, Melody. It doesn’t suit your face.” Ashildr doesn’t answer the question but Melody doesn’t need her to — Clara had already told her everything. “I know Clara and I were a little impetuous but you and I are family now. You can’t hate me forever.”

“I think you’ll find there’s very little I can’t do when I put my mind to it,” Melody snaps. This woman has hurt people that she cares for a great deal and she can’t help but feel protective of them all — sweet, curious Bill who seems far too trusting with her heart; John Smith who had protected his daughter and been slandered for it; and ridiculous, flirtatious Clara who only ever wanted a bit of adventure. The worst part is the complete lack of remorse Ashildr seems to feel for any of it. “You _will_ make my cousin happy, whatever it takes.”

If Ashildr is surprised by the order, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she studies Melody in silence for a moment. Melody doesn’t look at her but the younger woman’s gaze burns against the side of her face. “You may not believe it but I do care for Clara a great deal.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.” Melody finally turns to face her, eyes narrowed. “You may have fooled me for a time but I know exactly who and what you are now.”

Ashildr stiffens. “Is that so?”

Melody nods once, a snarl curling her lips. “Stay clear of Bill and her father. If I ever hear either of their names leaving your unworthy lips again, I shall make certain the rest of my family learns the whole truth about you. Do we have an understanding?”

Significantly paler now, Ashildr meets her steady gaze with a glare. “Yes,” she whispers, visibly seething. “I think we do.”

Smiling without warmth, Melody says, “Good. Have a lovely holiday.”

Ashildr slinks off without another word, stalking away from Melody as quickly as propriety will allow. The moment she reaches her wife, Aunt Tabetha descends on her, offering more hugs and well-wishes between more bouts of tears. Melody only gets a moment to scowl at them before she senses another presence beside her — far more familiar and more welcome. She relaxes, allowing herself to lean just slightly into her Uncle’s side. 

He stands beside her, hands in his pockets. “Should I even attempt to venture a guess at what all that was about?”

“It was nothing, Uncle,” she lies, knowing all the while he’ll see right through her. Uncle Augustus has been watching her sneak out of the house during lessons and lie to Aunt Tabetha’s face about it for years — he knows all her tells. “I just wanted to wish the happy couple well.”

Augustus’ mouth twitches briefly. “You threatened her, didn’t you?”

“Might have done.” Melody purses her lips, unapologetic. “And I’ll do the same for Amy when the time comes.”

He sighs, turning to eye her fondly as Clara and Ashildr finally climb into the carriage. “I believe that’s supposed to be the father’s job, isn’t it?”

Melody grins. “I’m better at it.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Uncle Augustus fidgets, watching his wife wave her handkerchief at the departing carriage as it begins to pull away from the house. “And I’ve every confidence you are more than capable of looking after yourself, my dear, but I do hope to at least be given the honor of threatening _your_ spouse when the time comes.”

The only one she wants — the only one she has ever even thought about marrying — would never need such a talk anyway but Melody finds herself smiling as she imagines it. John Smith sitting in the study with Uncle Augustus, being threatened within an inch of his life over shared glasses of port. “You know what,” she says, leaning in to kiss her Uncle on the cheek. “I think I’d like that.”

-

Nearly a fortnight after Clara and Ashildr departed for the seaside, news arrives that Rory Williams will be returning to his Pandorica estate for the remainder of the summer months. Amy and Melody are in town when they hear of it, roaming the open air market in search of amusing trinkets. They pause at a table of shimmering fabric they couldn’t possibly afford, admiring the silken feel beneath their fingertips. 

Picking up a swathe of fabric and holding it up to her cheek, Amy tilts her head and puckers her lips. “What do you think?” She asks, and does an inappropriate little shimmy that has Melody stifling a snort of laughter. “Is it my color?”

“Not at all.” Melody takes the swatch from her and swats her gently over the head with it. “Not nearly shameless enough.”

Amy laughs, reaching for another that matches her hair. “What about-”

_“Can you believe, Rory Williams in town again? And still unmarried?”_

Amy pales instantly, the fabric dropping from her stiff fingers. Her head turns automatically, searching out the two young women standing just behind them. They’re huddled over a table of gaudy fabric and whispering together furtively. Completely oblivious to their increasingly distressed eavesdropper, they continue gossiping with silly grins on their faces. 

“Perhaps he’ll throw another ball.”

“Well if he does then I shall need a new dress. Do you think he’d like this color?”

“So what if he doesn’t? He won’t be wearing it.”

“Yes but I want him to notice me.”

“He wasn’t very handsome, was he? Quite plain, actually. I was terribly disappointed when I finally saw him last spring.”

“Five thousand _a year_ , Tilly. I don’t care if he has a lazy eye and warts.”

As the two women wander away still bickering, Melody glares after them and drops the fabric swatch back onto the table. Amy is pale and wide-eyed, unnaturally still beside her. Melody reaches cautiously for her hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing to catch her attention. “All right?”

Wearing a frozen smile, Amy nods slowly. “I’m fine.”

Melody eyes her skeptically. 

“What? I am.” Amy frowns, tugging her hand away as though perhaps Melody might not have noticed the way it trembles. “I was just surprised, that’s all. But it’s been months and months since I saw him last. I’m… over him. Completely. In fact, I’m indifferent to him and his stupid face.”

With a soft snort, Melody takes her by the arm and guides her away from the tables of fabric they can’t afford to buy anyway. “If you insist, dear.”

“I do.” Amy juts out her chin stubbornly, tossing her hair. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing him. But only so I can show you how much I don’t care about him anymore.”

Luckily for Amy, she gets the opportunity to showcase her complete lack of feelings for Rory Williams rather sooner than she’d expected. Two days after their trip to the market, they spend the early afternoon lounging in the parlour with Tabetha. It’s already sweltering and they’ve thrown open all the windows in hopes of catching a breeze but have found little energy to much else. Draped over the furniture and fanning themselves, they haven’t even changed out of their morning dresses. 

The knock at the door just before lunch is unwelcome.

As a maid scurries to answer it, Melody plucks another strawberry from the bowl resting on her knee and turns the page in her book. From the entry hall, she hears the low murmur of a man’s voice but she doesn’t look up, assuming it must be a neighbor calling on Uncle Augustus. 

“Um. Hello.”

At the sound of Rory Williams’ voice, Melody sits up so quickly she nearly upends the bowl of strawberries balanced precariously on her knee. She does lose the book, which falls from her loose grip and lands in a heap of bended pages. Amy drops her legs from the arm of her chair and back to the floor, her eyes wide and panicked. Tabetha, who had been nearly dozing on the settee, sits up with a startled yelp. The abandoned knitting on her lap drops to the floor but she pays it no mind, hastily smoothing her hair. 

“Mr. Williams,” she says, stumbling over her skirts as she stands. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Hovering uncertainly in the doorway, Rory waves awkwardly. “I apologize for calling so early. And unannounced.” He’s well-mannered enough to look a bit guilty about the surprise visit but Melody notices the way his eyes have found Amy instantly. He seems reluctant to look elsewhere. “But I’d like to speak with your daughter. Privately.”

Tabetha breathes in sharply, eyes going wide in understanding. “Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll just-” She clears her throat, clearly trying and failing to stifle the giddiness in her voice. “I’ll just step outside. Melody?”

Still sitting at the open window and holding her bowl of strawberries, Melody asks, “Hmm?”

Through her teeth, Aunt Tabetha suggests, “Why don’t you join me? _Now_.” She nearly runs from the room, pausing in her haste only to offer Rory an encouraging smile and a breathless, “Wonderful to see you again, Mr. Williams.”

Melody follows her at a more sedate pace. Setting aside her strawberries and her book, she makes a show of smoothing her skirts and fluffing her hair, lingering until she catches Amy’s eye. While Rory Williams is no Ramone Collins, she remembers only too well her horror at being left alone to fend off an unwanted proposal. She won’t subject Amy to the same. At her cousin’s small smile and brief nod, Melody finally leaves the room. She offers the couple a cheeky wink just before she shuts the door behind her.

In the corridor outside, Aunt Tabetha is waiting. “You took your time,” she whispers, arms crossed impatiently. “Now budge over, I want to hear _everything_.”

Rather than joining her Aunt in eavesdropping at the door, Melody leaves her to it and slips away outside. There is little doubt in her mind that Rory is about to propose and despite Amy’s insistence to the contrary, she knows her cousin is as smitten with him as ever. She may have done her best to move on in these last months but Rory Williams is it for her — has been since the moment they met. She’ll accept, of course. And Melody is happy for her. Truly. She has no explanation for the ache in her chest. 

It pains her to think of Amy moving away and leaving her here with Aunt Tabetha but she’d always known it would happen someday. And yes, just as Tabetha had predicted Melody will be alone and unmarried very near her expiration date but she’d always known that was a possibility too. She’d meant what she told Lady Kovarian that day. Being alone doesn’t frighten her. She doesn’t feel afraid right now. Only singularly, inexplicably _sad_. 

It doesn’t occur to her just why until she walks out of the house and finds herself staring at none other than John Smith. He stands with a pair of horses beneath a shade tree just a few yards from her, feeding them treats from his pocket. She knows instantly that he must have accompanied Rory for moral support. Without conscious thought, her feet carry her toward him as though they’re connected by some invisible string. 

John notices her approach instantly, as though he’d felt some tugging on the string linking them together. He stills at once, his open palm empty beneath his horse’s mouth until the animal nudges him and he remembers himself. He looks away from her, lips drawing into a thin line and his hands gripping the reins of his horse. She waits for a stiff greeting to fall from his lips but instead, he says with soft familiarity, “Hello, Melody.”

She smiles, warmth blooming in her chest at the mere sound of his voice. Lord but she’s so terribly smitten. Amy’s adoration for dear Mr. Williams seems positively mature compared to the butterflies Melody feels now. “John,” she says, and wonders how he doesn’t hear everything she feels for him in that single word. “You’re well, I hope?”

“Yes.” He looks away, oblivious to the longing in her eyes. “Bill sends her regards.”

“I enjoyed meeting her at Arcadia.” Watching him completely avoid her gaze, Melody feels her heart sink. Of course he doesn’t want her now. Of course he doesn’t. She’d known that, has been telling herself that for weeks now. “It was a lovely visit.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “She’s talked of little else but you since you left.”

She bites her lip. “And you, Mr. Smith?”

John lifts his eyes to hers, his intent stare piercing. “I never tire of talking of you, Miss Pond.”

A flutter of renewed hope in her chest, Melody bites back a beaming smile and glances swiftly over her shoulder toward the house. “So… is he doing what I suspect he’s doing?”

“Oh yes.” John nods gravely but his mouth twitches. “A very grumpy but very wise old man happened to mention Amelia Pond might feel quite strongly about him after all. If he could have flown here, he would have. Hell, he’s proposed to me twice as practice on the ride over.”

Melody laughs, closing the remaining distance between them to stand at his side. Darcy immediately nudges her shoulder, neighing softly. She strokes her fingers over his white and gray muzzle, glancing at John through her lashes. “Thank you.” Hesitating, she trails her fingertips over the horse’s reins, stopping just short of where John clutches them in his slender fingers. They aren’t touching but the heat she feels is searing anyway. “For Amy… and for what you did for Clara.”

John draws in a sharp breath, his startled eyes finding hers. Clearly he’d been under the impression she knew nothing of what occurred to ensure Clara’s marriage. Swallowing audibly, he looks away. “I didn’t do it for Clara,” he says gruffly.

Melody feels her eyes water with relief. He’d done it for her. And he hadn’t even planned on ever telling her. He had saved her cousin from ruin and he hadn’t even done it as an attempt to win Melody’s affection — he’d simply done it because he loves her and couldn’t bear to see her unhappy. Somehow, despite everything _he still loves her_. The welcome weight of that realization steals her breath. “John-”

The sound of Aunt Tabetha’s delighted squeal from inside the house startles them both. They turn just in time to see Rory Williams walking through the front door with a small, quiet smile on his face. He waves jovially to Melody and she forces herself to wave back. The moment between she and John broken, she casts him one last glance and steps away. With his eyes on her, she walks all the way back to the house with her heart in her throat. 


	9. i cannot fix on the hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you hated him!”
> 
> “I did. Or I thought I did.” Melody sighs shakily, feeling her eyes begin to sting. She hadn’t planned on revealing the whole sorry mess to Amy but if she doesn’t talk to someone she feels like she might go mad. “But I was so wrong about him, Amy. He’s such a good man. The best man I’ve ever known. I think I might have been truly happy with him if I had accepted his proposal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody receives an unwelcome visitor and John Smith takes a walk. 
> 
> PSA: This chapter is a little early since I'll be away from my laptop for about a week or so. But I'll post the epilogue ASAP.

_“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”_

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Sixty**

* * *

Amy hasn’t stopped smiling all day. Even as the sun drops and night falls, she floats around her bedroom preparing to sleep. Oblivious to Melody’s scrutiny from an armchair in the corner, Amy hums under her breath as she brushes out her hair; she sighs happily as she sheds her gown and changes into her nightdress; she grins as she climbs into bed and stares dreamily up at the ceiling. 

Glancing up from her book with a raised brow, Melody asks archly, “What was it you said? Indifferent to his stupid face?”

“Oh shut up.” Amy sits up and lobs a pillow at her, still smiling. “I’m happy.”

“I noticed.” Melody shuts her book carefully - _Paradise Lost_ , again - and stands, crossing the room to sit on the edge of Amy’s bed. “And I’m glad for it.”

Amy stretches out again, tucking her hands under cheek and biting her lip. “I just don’t like the thought of leaving you here. Maybe you’d consider moving in with me and Rory once we’re married? Plenty of room at the Manor for you.”

“That’s a lovely offer, dear.” Melody shakes her head, laughing softly. “But I wouldn’t dare encroach on the newlyweds like that. You need your space. Tabetha will be hounding you for grandchildren before you know it.”

Flushing, Amy swats at her. “I just want you to be as happy as I am and I know that won’t be possible under the same roof as my mother.” 

Melody shrugs. "Perhaps I'll go and live with Vastra."

Amy nudges expectantly at Melody’s hand until she gives in and begins to toy with her bright hair. “Isn’t there anyone you admire? What about that cute shopgirl you’re always batting your eyes at in town? Anita, is it?”

Melody sighs, resigning herself to having this conversation with Amy far earlier than she’d intended — which is to say, never. “Anita is lovely but no, dear. She’s not the one I fancy above all others.”

Amy brightens at once, an eager grin spreading across her face. “Are you telling me there _is_ someone?” She scrambles to sit up and doesn't appear to notice Melody barely managing to let go of her hair in time to keep from yanking on it. Eyes sparkling, she bounces in place. The movement jars Melody, the mattress quivering beneath them. “Why my only cousin, you’ve been holding out on me! Who is it?”

Avoiding her gaze, Melody admits to a stray thread in the sheets, “Do you remember Rory’s uncle?”

“The grumpy one who wouldn’t dance with you?” Amy frowns. “Course I do, but what has that got to do with-” She gasps, eyes widening. “No. Really? _No_.”

Biting her lip, Melody mumbles, “I’m afraid so.”

“ _What_?” Amy tugs relentlessly on her sleeve until Melody finally looks at her. “I thought you hated him!”

“I did. Or I thought I did.” Melody sighs shakily, feeling her eyes begin to sting. She hadn’t planned on revealing the whole sorry mess to Amy but if she doesn’t talk to someone she feels like she might go mad. “But I was so wrong about him, Amy. He’s such a good man. The best man I’ve ever known. I think I might have been truly happy with him if I had accepted his proposal.”

Amy squeaks, gripping her arm so hard Melody feels her nails even through her sleeve. “He _proposed_? Melody Pond, you better explain yourself right now or-”

Before Melody can even begin to tell her anything, the sound of someone pounding on the door downstairs startles them both into silence. At this time of night, there can be nothing good waiting on the other side of that door. They turn to glance at each other uneasily as the knocking continues. Then, all at once, they both leap from the bed and scramble for their dressing gowns. 

Melody grabs a candle on her way out and they both stumble into the corridor just behind Tabetha and Augustus. Her Aunt and Uncle are also dressed for bed and look half asleep, but Augustus holds the candle while Tabetha wields a poker from the fireplace. The four of them stand there in a hallway for a moment, staring at each other, as the knocking from downstairs echoes. Coming to a silent decision, they move toward the stairs — Augustus at the front and Melody just behind him. 

Augustus reaches the door first, grumbling wearily under his breath that whatever it is, it had better be important — and more than that, interesting. Melody hovers at his shoulder, gripping her candlestick, and watches as her Uncle unlocks the door and pulls it open. The hinges creak and the sudden gust of cool night air makes her candle flicker. The absolute last person she ever expected - or in fact, _wanted_ \- to find on her doorstep stands menacingly before her, outlined in moonlight. 

“Lady Kovarian,” she blurts, forcing herself to curtsy. Beside her, Amy does the same and Aunt Tabetha scrambles to stash her poker behind the coat rack. 

Without waiting to be invited in, Lady Kovarian sweeps past them all and into the foyer. Amy and Tabetha exchange bewildered glances as Augustus shuts the door. Melody says nothing, watching irritably as Lady Kovarian glances around with obvious disdain. Clearly, Pond House is not up to her usual standards.  As if reading her mind, the first words Lady Kovarian utters are, “This is a very small house.” She frowns, her eyes landing on Aunt Tabetha as though the size of the house is her fault. “How on earth did you manage to raise three girls with such little space?”

“We managed well enough, Lady Kovarian.” Aunt Tabetha tightens the knot around her dressing gown, glancing briefly at Melody for guidance. Melody doesn’t have the bond with her Aunt that she shares with Augustus but the question in Tabetha’s eyes is plain. _What does this rude stranger want with us?_ When Melody only shrugs, she ventures uncertainly, “Could I fetch you a cup of tea, ma’am?”

“No, I do not plan to linger here.” Just as well. Melody tries to picture Lady Kovarian sitting down to tea, regal as ever in her dark, expensive gown while Aunt Tabetha serves her in a night dress, and has to stifle laughter. Lady Kovarian tips up her chin, eyeing them all down the bridge of her nose. Her unsettling gaze falls on Melody and stays there. “I must speak with Miss Melody Pond alone at once.”

Refusing to show her surprise outwardly, Melody only nods.“Of course. Will the drawing room do?”

“I suppose there are very few options in a house such as this.” She sniffs, waving a gloved hand in apparent consent. “Lead the way, Miss Pond.”

With one last baffled glance exchanged with her relatives, Melody turns and makes her way toward the drawing room. Lady Kovarian keeps pace right behind her, nearly at her heels. It’s difficult to maintain an air of calm with the woman practically breathing down her neck but Melody would rather walk out into the moors and leap off a cliff than let Lady Kovarian see her intimidated. She keeps her steps light and steady, refusing to turn around to look at her.  Once they reach the drawing room, she allows Lady Kovarian to walk ahead of her into the room before shutting the door behind them. She has no doubt Aunt Tabetha and Amy had followed at a more sedate pace to listen outside the door but she won’t make it easy for them. 

The moment they’re alone, Lady Kovarian turns on her with narrowed eyes. “Surely you must know why I am here.”

Despite the settee and several comfortable chairs placed around the room, Lady Kovarian makes no move to sit. Reluctant to be left at a disadvantage, even one as small as sitting, Melody remains on her feet. She sets her candle on the table and wraps her dressing gown tighter around her, feeling vulnerable and not liking it one bit. “I assure you I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“I will not be trifled with, Miss Pond.” Lady Kovarian tugs at her silk gloves, adjusting them at the wrist. She doesn’t spare Melody a single glance. “A most reprehensible report has reached me regarding you and my nephew, John Smith. You can imagine my alarm when I heard the report of his intention to marry _you_ , of all people. I knew, of course, that it must be a scandalous lie but I didn’t wish to mention it to my nephew for fear of insulting him. So I came here instead.”

Melody blinks at her. “If you already believed it to be false, I can’t help but wonder why you took the trouble of traveling so very far from Trenzalore Park.”

Glancing up, Kovarian narrows her eyes at her. “To hear it contradicted.”

“I see.” Melody purses her lips. “And you thought coming all the way here to call on me would not encourage those rumors? Surely you realize if such suspicions are being circulated, you’ve only confirmed it in the minds of others.”

“If?” Lady Kovarian stiffens, gloved hands clasped tightly together. “Are you pretending ignorance of this lie when it could only have been started by you in the first place?”

Melody glowers, struggling to conceal her temper. She hides her clenched fists in the pockets of her dressing gown and says stiffly, “I’ve never heard of such a rumor until now.”

With a sigh that sounds like relief, Lady Kovarian relaxes. “Then can you tell me there is no truth in the rumor?”

“You may come here and barge into our house in the middle of the night to interrogate me, Lady Kovarian,” Melody responds coolly. “But I am under no obligation to answer you.”

Lady Kovarian snarls impatiently. “Did my nephew make you an offer of marriage?”

Melody shrugs. “You said yourself it could not be true.”

Lady Kovarian looks thunderous, her dark eyes wide and her cheeks reddening with anger. “It is my intention to introduce my nephew to a dear friend of mine, Madam Tasha Lem. She is a handsome woman with a proper education and the correct standing in society to complement his own. _She_ is a suitable match for him. I’ve made such intentions perfectly clear to him.”

Melody ignores the pang in her chest at the thought of John marrying another. She had refused him, after all. She has no claim on his heart any longer. She leans against the wall behind her and wraps her arms around her middle, wishing desperately for this conversation to end. “Then you have no reason to suspect he would make me an offer, do you?”

“You insolent girl,” Kovarian hisses, eyes flashing. “Your family has no connections. Your sister married an absolute scoundrel and you yourself are a crass, mouthy little demon with no proper idea of how a lady should talk and act. You are nothing but a penniless, low class _orphan_. You would ruin him in the eyes of his friends and society at large. Now _tell me_ once and for all — are you engaged to him or not?”

Shaking with fury, Melody bites out, “ _No_.”

Lady Kovarian sighs her relief, pressing a gloved hand over her heart. “Good. And do you promise to never enter into such an engagement?”

“Never.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I make no promise to you, Lady Kovarian. Not now and not ever.” Melody stalks to the door and flings it open so hard it crashes against the wall behind her. She barely hears the startled gasps of Amy and Aunt Tabetha, who scamper back from the door guiltily. “You have insulted me in every possible manner and I might have abided that but you will not insult my family. We have nothing more to say to each other and I must ask that you _get out_ of our home. _Now_.”

Eyes wide, Kovarian stares at her unblinkingly and Melody gets the distinct pleasure of realizing that no one has probably ever spoken to her so indecently in her privileged, sheltered life. With a huff, she marches toward the door and pauses only when she reaches Melody. Dark eyes boring into hers, she hisses, “When my nephew hears of this, you can rest assured you will never receive a proposal of any kind, Miss Pond.”

Melody bares her teeth. “Then you and Madam Lem should rest easy tonight.”

With a glare, Kovarian sweeps past her and down the corridor. Distantly, Melody hears her snarl at Amy and Tabetha still hovering close by on her way out. The door slams shut behind her and the noise seems to echo in the silent house for ages after she leaves. As the sound of a carriage outside fades into the distance, Melody finally allows herself to breathe again, slumping against the wall. 

-

Too angry to sleep and too rattled by the whole encounter to explain anything to her family, Melody shuts herself away in Uncle Augustus’ study for the remainder of the night. She finds a stash of cigars in one of the drawers of her Uncle’s desk and passes the hours until dawn smoking, pacing furiously, and sneaking the occasional sip from Augustus’ whiskey decanter. When the sun finally begins to rise, she snuffs out the cigar and throws on a coat over her nightdress. 

Slipping out of the house and into the misty morning air, Melody begins to walk with no particular destination in mind. The house feels suffocating and nothing at all but the freedom of the wild moors will do. She contemplates stealing into the stables for Lizzy but the exhilaration of an early morning ride isn’t what her overworked mind needs. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her oversized riding coat, picks a direction, and starts walking. 

The sound of birdsong is just beginning in the nearby trees. The air is chilly and her breath makes a cloud every time she exhales. Drinking in the peaceful stillness of the morning, Melody finally feels her infuriating encounter with Lady Kovarian begin to slip away. She turns her face toward the rising sun, catching sight of a figure in the distance. She stills, breath caught in her throat. 

On the horizon is John Smith. It seems he spotted her first because he’s walking right toward her. A heavy coat thrown over his undershirt and trousers, he strides through the wet grass with purpose, crushing heather beneath his boots as he goes. Melody wants to move toward him, wants to meet him halfway, but the sight of him has rendered her completely incapable.  With the pink light of the rising sun behind him, he nearly glows in the morning fog. His wild gray hair is rumpled and unruly, as though he’s spent the night running his fingers through it. His coat billows behind him as he walks and even from a distance she can almost make out the piercing blue of his eyes and the sharpness of his loveably hawkish features. When he finally reaches her, she can scarcely breathe. 

“John,” she whispers. “What are you-” She shakes her head. It doesn’t matter why he’s here. She’s glad to see him whatever the reason. To her continued astonishment, she’s always glad to see him lately. When she realizes she’s staring, she turns and glances briefly over her shoulder at Pond House in the distance. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.” He sighs, eyeing her with regret. “My Aunt-”

Despite herself, Melody feels her mouth curl into a wry smile. “Yes, I had the pleasure of her company last night.”

“I’m sorry.” Brows drawn together and lips turned down, he looks angry but Melody knows him well enough by now to know that it isn’t with her. “She had no right. And I need you to know that I have no intention of marrying her insufferable friend.”

Melody huffs out a laugh. “She must have been very disappointed to hear that.”

His expression softens, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “To put it mildly.” He turns serious again far too soon for her liking, darting his gaze away from her. “She told me you refused to promise never to marry me.”

She purses her lips, watching him look anywhere but at her, and feels such overwhelming adoration for him that it takes all of her willpower to simply remain standing. “I did.”

His brow furrows once more. “Was it just to spite her? I can understand the desire to do so, of course.” He licks his lips, hesitating. “But if there was another reason-”

“There was.”

“Melody-”

She smiles, curling her trembling hands into the pockets of her coat. “Just ask me again, John.”

He draws in a breath, looking down into her eyes, and Melody sways toward him unconsciously. She feels lost in his gaze, in the tenderness so evident on his face. It’s worlds away from the last time they’d had this conversation, when they’d both been so angry and misunderstood. She never wants him to look at her any other way but this again. “If you still feel towards me the way you did at Trenzalore, tell me so at once and I’ll never speak of it again.”

Melody says nothing, smiling encouragingly. 

John takes another step toward her, so close now she can smell the early morning mist on his coat. “If your feelings have changed, however, I would have to tell you…” He pauses and Melody watches with a lump in her throat as he swallows and trembles before her. “You have bewitched me, Melody Pond. I am _yours_ \- body and soul. Always and completely. I never want to be parted from you again. Marry me and I’ll make it so.”

As the sun begins to climb over the trees, making its way higher into the sky and washing everything in its path in soft light, Melody feels the warmth of its rays seep into her skin. It’s nothing compared to the way John’s words light her up from within, sinking into her bones and wrapping around her heart, enough to keep her warm for a lifetime. She bridges the last remaining distance between them with one small step, reaching for him with hands that tremble. 

John laces their fingers together, watching with apprehension as Melody lifts his hand to her mouth. His skin is chilled under her touch and she feels a flutter of adoration when she realizes he had walked all the way here from Pandorica Manor just to see her. Tears in her eyes, she lets her lips brush his knuckles and echoes, “Always and completely, my love.”

The tension leaves his frame at once and for the first time probably since she’s known him, Melody gets the distinct privilege of seeing John Smith relax. She laughs when he sighs his relief, well past any token protest as his arms snake around her waist. He tugs her against him and she thinks nothing of standing before him in her nightdress, of arching eagerly into him and leaning up on her toes to press herself as close as she can manage. John ducks his head with a growl and captures her mouth with his own, kissing her fiercely. 

Melody parts her lips on a gasp, her knees weakening when he licks eagerly into her mouth. Only John keeps her from sinking to the ground. His hands sneak beneath her coat to press against the small of her back and she whimpers, feeling his chilly hands through the thin material of her nightdress. “You’re cold,” she whispers against his mouth, and he instantly swallows the words in another kiss. She’s far from complaining. “I’ll warm you up.”

He groans, nipping sharply at her bottom lip. “You've been doing that since I met you.” He grips her hard enough to leave bruises and she pants eagerly against his mouth, the combined heat of the morning sun and John’s touch enough to steal her breath entirely. “You taste like whiskey. My rebellious girl.”

“Yours,” she promises, latching onto the lapels of his coat. “John, I love you. I-”

He tears his mouth from hers with a hiss, his eyes darkening when Melody tries to follow, whimpering at the loss of him. Mouth swollen and his gray curls mussed beyond hope, he takes a step back from her and clenches his shaking hands into fists at his sides. He licks his lips, breathing hard. It takes him a moment to collect himself and she stares at him, longing for him to close the gap between them once more. 

“Come on,” he finally rasps, turning and walking back in the direction of Pond House. 

Melody stares after him, her heart still pounding in her chest and her lips tingling. “Where are we going?”

“To ask your Uncle for permission to marry,” he says, waving her along impatiently. When she catches up to him, he tucks her into his side and rests a hand at the small of her back. “If I don’t do it now, I’ll have you right here in this bloody field.”

She shivers, not entirely put off by the notion. “Well…”

John smirks, feeling her shudder through his palm against her back. “Later, my bad girl. Later.”

Hand in hand, they stroll toward Pond House and their future. Their progress is hindered frequently by the odd bickering match and the occasional pause to kiss with ardent recklessness beneath the shelter of a tree along the way. Neither of them minds the delay. Melody rests her head against his arm as they walk, her smile an impossible thing to stifle. 

It may indeed be a universally acknowledged truth that a woman in possession of little fortune and even less social standing must be in want of a wealthy husband but Melody Pond has never been that woman. There are far better universal truths anyway. Like this one: A single, independent woman quick of wit and sharp of tongue must be in want of an equal. And when she finds him, they’ll live _happily ever after_. 


	10. epilogue: the happiest creature in the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melody stares at her for a long moment, realizing that nothing she says will convince her Aunt she hadn’t chosen John Smith any more than she had chosen the color of her hair or the shape her of nose. He has always been hers. Their hearts have been tangled together long before either of them had realized. John is simply a part of her and choosing to be without him would have been like choosing to part with a limb. Unthinkable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which John Smith and Melody Pond adjust to happily ever after.

_I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh._

**\- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Sixty**

* * *

It’s been less than an hour and already John Smith is doing awful things to her self control. In spite of years spent scorning Clara’s awful habit of eavesdropping, Melody finds herself standing in the corridor outside of Uncle Augustus’ study with her ear pressed to the door. She listens intently, struggling to make out the words being said within. It might have been easier if her co-conspirators would _hush_.

“I don’t understand,” Amy whispers, standing at her shoulder. “First you hated him and now you’re engaged? What happened?”

“Oh who cares what happened?” Aunt Tabetha scoffs, somehow managing to look annoyed and delighted at the same time. She hasn’t stopped smiling since John had walked into their house with Melody on his arm, requesting a moment alone with Augustus. “Melody has finally come to her senses.” She sighs dreamily. “Ten thousand _a year_.”

Inside the study, Melody can hear the rumble of Augustus’ voice and wonders briefly if her Uncle is threatening her fiancé the way he’d promised. The thought makes her smile. She turns reluctantly from the door and eyes Tabetha with ill-concealed irritation. “I haven’t come to my senses,” she snaps. “And I certainly haven’t tossed aside my principles in exchange for money. I love John and by happy coincidence, he happens to be a very wealthy man.”

Tabetha’s smile is condescending as she reaches out a hand and pats Melody on the arm. “Of course, dear.”

Melody grits her teeth. “It’s true. He could lose every penny tomorrow and I would marry him still.”

“There’s no need for theatrics, dear.” Tabetha huffs, unconvinced. “We women do what we must in times such as these. I’m proud of you, Melody. You’ve chosen well.”

Melody stares at her for a long moment, realizing that nothing she says will convince her Aunt she hadn’t chosen John Smith any more than she had chosen the color of her hair or the shape her of nose. He has always been hers. Their hearts have been tangled together long before either of them had realized. John is simply a part of her and choosing to be without him would have been like choosing to part with a limb. Unthinkable. 

Explaining any of this to Tabetha, who sees everything through the shrewd and calculating eyes of someone always looking for a leg up in the world, would be nothing but folly. Instead, Melody only purses her lips and mutters, “Thank you, Aunt Tabetha.”  She turns her back, pressing her ear to the door once more. For a few blessed moments, the corridor is silent and she can make out some of the words being said within the study. 

_ “…niece…stubborn.” _

_ “Not…love her.” _

Melody scowls, frustrated by her inability to catch more than a few words per sentence. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to how Clara did this after all. There must be some sort of trick she isn't privy to. She doesn’t get a chance to try again. Amy nudges her, apparently unsatisfied with Tabetha’s rendering of events. "Oi."

Melody turns from the door again, eyebrow raised. 

“You love him?” Amy squints at her, darting a quick glance at her mother. “You’re not just…looking for a way out?”

Realizing her cousin must believe she agreed to marry John as a means of getting out from under Tabetha’s thumb, Melody shakes her head and thinks of John. Kind, funny, clever, grumpy John. And she smiles. She knows what Amy must see in her face — the bright eyes and pink cheeks, the happiness she feels radiating from her like a tangible thing. She feels like she’s still standing in a field, the morning sun on her skin and John Smith holding her in his arms. “I really love him, Amy,” she whispers. 

Eyes watering, Amy beams at her. She throws slender arms around Melody’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Well,” she says, sounding choked. “That’s all right then.”

The door to the study swings open, startling them apart. Melody lifts her chin and turns, refusing to be embarrassed about being caught eavesdropping. It's her they've been discussing after all, as though she needs approval from one man to marry another. She has as much right to hear their conversation as anyone. Only John steps out, a small smile curling his mouth the moment their eyes meet. He winks at her. “Your Uncle requires a word with you, my dear.”

Behind her, she hears Aunt Tabetha swoon. 

Melody ignores her and reaches for John, grasping his hand in hers even as she moves toward the study. He squeezes her fingers, his eyes soft and reassuring. She steps into the study and begins to shut the door, still refusing to let go until she absolutely must. Their fingertips linger together, touching lightly until the door clicks shut. 

Uncle Augustus waits for her in an armchair by the hearth. He sips from a glass of whiskey and nods to the chair opposite him, a silent request for her to sit. Melody moves toward it, noticing with amusement the unlit cigar waiting on the arm of the chair for her. She can't help wondering if Augustus had put it there or if John had left it for her. They're both so terribly indulgent of her eccentrics she couldn't begin to guess which. She picks up the cigar as she sinks into her chair, holding it out and letting Augustus light it for her with a proffered match. 

Once she settles back comfortably, cigar between her teeth, Augustus eyes her sternly. “You’re a practical woman in many ways, my niece. But you’re far too strong-willed to marry a man you don’t love in exchange for fine horses and pretty dresses.”

Melody smiles. “Yes, Uncle.”

Despite the confidence with which he’d spoken, Augustus looks relieved at the confirmation. “You’ve had many suitors over the years. Why marry this one, if not for financial security?”

She gives the question the thought it deserves, breathing out smoke into the air around them. Because John Smith is kind. Because he makes her feel alive. Because he treats her like an equal. Because he likes it when she’s outrageous. All of that really boils down to just one thing. “Because he sees me.”

Uncle Augustus smiles at her fondly. “You know, I don’t believe I could part with you for any lesser reason.”

Melody stashes the cigar in a little dish on the table between them. “We have your blessing then?”

“Would it stop you if I said _no_?”

She thinks for a moment, staring at the smoke still curling toward the ceiling, and tries to imagine not marrying John Smith. “Not for a second.”

Augustus huffs out a laugh and muses aloud, “That's my girl.” He sighs with the same fond exasperation he always does when presented with her antics. “Very well, Melody. You have my blessing.”

Melody leaps from her chair and presses a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Uncle.”

He waves her away, blushing. “Off with you before I change my mind.”

The corridor is empty outside the study but Melody doesn’t stop to think how John must have scared Tabetha and Amy away. She rushes through the halls and down the stairs, skirts in hand as she stumbles outside in search of him. She finds him pacing beneath a tree, hands behind his back and an anxious scowl on his face. He slows to a stop the moment he sees her, staring at her in trepidation — as though she might have changed her mind. 

Melody answers his unspoken question by walking straight into his arms. John breathes out a sigh, wrapping his arms tight around her and lifting her off the ground. He twirls her around and she laughs into his neck, closing her eyes and trusting him to keep her upright as the world spins. 

-

The morning after their engagement, Melody wakes to the sound of a pebble pinging softly against the glass of her window. Already smiling, she slips from bed and looks outside, unsurprised to find John standing in the yard staring up at her. When their eyes meet, he smirks at her and raises an eyebrow in clear invitation. She bites her lip, glancing over her shoulder at her still sleeping cousin. 

Amy had fallen asleep in her room last night, too excited about the identity and mere _existence_ of Melody’s new fiancé to go to bed. Thankfully, John’s unusual method of calling on her doesn’t appear to have disturbed her sleep. She slumbers on, draped over an armchair in the corner. Melody suspects Amy could sleep through a stampede of wild horses. With a fond glance at her cousin, she grabs her cloak and hurries out the door and down the stairs. 

John is still waiting for her when she steps outside into the chilly morning air, her cloak wrapped tightly around her. “Good morning,” he says, and he licks his lips as he watches her approach him. “You look very fetching.”

“I’m in my nightgown,” she points out. “Again. I’m beginning to think you have a fetish, Mr. Smith.”

His eyes gleam as he offers her his arm. “Me too.”

With a sigh, Melody threads her arm through his and allows him to lead her away from the house. They really shouldn’t venture far without a chaperone but she hardly wants Amy or, heaven forbid _Aunt Tabetha_ , tagging along behind them. Secretly, she’s rather hoping John will remember that comment about having her in the middle of a field and do something about it. 

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but what are you doing here so early?” She leans her head on his shoulder and bats her lashes up at him. “Miss me already?”

He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. “I missed you the moment we said goodnight.”

She stares at him, pleased by his candor. “My, what a sweet tongue you have, John Smith. Are you planning to keep it once we’re married or are you just trying to impress me?”

John arches an eyebrow. “I think you’ll find that once we’re married, the use of my tongue will double, Miss Pond.”

With a gasp, she tilts her head up to grin breathlessly at him. “Who said you had to wait until we’re married? We’re all alone out here, after all…”

He sighs through his nose, forcing his gaze away from her. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You’ve already promised to marry me, John.” She uses the hand not tucked through his arm to caress his knuckles teasingly. “I don’t care about waiting for the sake of it. In fact, I’d rather lay out my cloak on the ground behind those trees and-”

John groans, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. “For Christ’s sake, Melody. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

She frowns. “Well who asked you to?”

Coming to an abrupt halt, John whirls to face her and takes her hands in his, gripping tightly. She stills entirely, caught in his intense stare. Voice low and gruff, he says, “The first time I have you, it will be in the most comfortable bed in our seaside cottage where there won’t be so much as a single servant to hear when I make you scream. I intend to make certain you can’t even _sit_ without blushing. Do I make myself clear?”

Melody stares at him, her hands trembling in his grasp. She feels her cheeks heat with a heady blush at the visual he paints so effortlessly. Usually, she’s the one to make her innocent suitors turn pink and it’s dizzying to be on the other end of it. No one has ever spoken to her the way John is right now. She _likes_ it. A flutter of unmistakable heat lancing through her, she forces her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth and breathes out, “Yes, John.”

His eyes darken and he nods once, leaning in to press a swift kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to spoil you, Melody Pond. Just you wait. Diamonds and furs and more fine horses than you’ll know what to do with.” His mouth trails down, pressing tenderly against her temple. “And a husband who loves you wildly.”

“Sounds divine.” She smiles, tipping her face up for a proper kiss. He bestows it gladly, his lips warm and firm against her own. “I suppose I’ll have to return the favor then.”

Chuckling warmly, John murmurs, “I look forward to it. Though I’m not entirely certain diamonds suit me nearly so well as you.”

“Rubies?”

He hums, shaking his head. “Why don’t you wear the jewels and I’ll just drape you over me?”

Laughing, Melody strokes a hand over his cheek. “Do you know what I don’t understand?”

John takes her arm again and they resume their leisurely stroll. “Very little, as I’ve come to realize.”

She smiles. “How did that taciturn old man I first met become the besotted fiancé I see before me today?”

Huffing out a dry laugh, John says, “I do hate to dissuade you of your original impression of me, my dear, but I was enamored the moment I saw you. Falling in love came later, of course, so slowly and steadily I couldn’t truthfully tell you when. But desire? That was immediate.”

“Yes,” she admits, leaning her head on his arm. “For me too.”

John stills, slowing their walk to a stop once more. Brows arched, he asks, “What?”

She shrugs. “I felt it the moment our eyes met, darling. And then I overheard your conversation with Rory and realized you didn’t feel an inkling of what I did.” Fidgeting, she glances away into the distance and remembers the way her heart had sank in disappointment. “I suppose I resented you after that for making me feel so foolish.”

He sighs, the sound coming out more like a hiss through his teeth. “I’m sorry, dear. What a pillock I was. Pining for you and pushing you away at the same time. You didn’t deserve that.”

Melody presses a kiss to his arm through his coat, her lips lingering. A silent assurance that all is forgiven. “You know, for wanting so badly not to love me, you were certainly terrible at staying away.”

“Well I didn’t truly want to, dear.” He smirks, his eyes distant as he recalls, “The night I saw you dancing with Ramone, I overheard your Aunt bragging that she thought he might propose. I was so jealous I couldn’t see straight. The thought of you marrying that bore made me furious. Before I even knew what I was doing, I walked right up to you and asked for a dance.”

She smiles, remembering how bewildered she’d been when he asked. “Trying to stake your claim?”

His mouth twitches. “Even then I knew you weren’t a woman to be claimed, Melody Pond. I suppose I just…wanted an excuse to touch you.”

“Was it everything you hoped for?”

“Not at all — you wouldn’t stop trying to argue long enough for me to enjoy it.”

Melody laughs. “Don’t worry, darling. I promise to let you enjoy it on our wedding night.”

He shakes his head, lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’m certain even then we’ll find something to argue about.”

-

Melody has never really considered herself the maternal sort. Though she’s the oldest of her cousins and she did tend to look after them, she had always felt more like a sister than a mother. In her experience — which was mostly limited to Aunt Tabetha — mothers were people who scolded you for getting your clothes dirty, needled you about your lack of a husband, and sighed in disappointment when you fell asleep during church. Melody had never been any of those things. 

She settles into the role of stepmother to John’s daughter with equal parts curiosity and unease. There is no denying she adores Bill. She likes joining her in teasing John over breakfast and helping her shop for new dresses and teaching her how to ride properly rather than just side saddle. It’s only…she has no idea how to be a mother to the girl or if that’s even what’s expected of her. 

Lord knows Bill is old enough to need nothing from Melody at all but the thought of not having a role in her life whatsoever outside of being her father’s wife causes an inexplicable pang in Melody’s chest. It isn’t as though she can ask John what Bill expects from her. Aside from the fact that he’s currently away on business in London, the man is completely oblivious to the delicacy needed for these sorts of things. He’d probably just sigh and say _why don’t you ask her?_

Utterly unhelpful, the sod.

Studying her stepdaughter surreptitiously over the rim of her teacup, Melody ponders actually taking the advice. It’s a bit too direct for her taste. She likes to be subtle about matters such as these, unlike her husband. It’s been nearly three months since she and John returned from their post-wedding holiday and nothing at all has come to mind yet. Bill is far too clever for her usual tricks to work. More often than not, Melody has a feeling the girl can see right through her. 

As her stepdaughter reaches across the table to help herself to another scone, Melody pastes on a smile. “Did you get the letter your Aunt Missy sent? I told Nardole to give it to you straight away, unless he’s lost it already.”

Bill shakes her head, frowning at the crumbs scattered across the crisp tablecloth. “No — well, yes he did lose it but he found it again.” She rolls her eyes, grinning. “She said to tell you _hello_.”

Melody snorts into her tea. “No, she didn’t.”

Grimacing, Bill admits, “No, she didn’t. She actually said _I still can’t believe my brother married that peasant_.”

“Peasant? My, that’s very nearly polite compared to her reply when John wrote to tell her we were engaged.” Melody shares a conspiratorial grin with her stepdaughter. Missy had been polite enough at the wedding itself and her toast had been almost welcoming. It might have had more to do with her glee over Lady Kovarian’s ongoing horror over the marriage but Melody had appreciated it nonetheless.“Perhaps I’ll win her over one day after all.”

Polishing off the last of her blueberry scone, Bill folds her hands in her lap and eyes Melody across the table with apprehension. For a moment, Melody feels a flutter of panic. She hasn’t even really tried to be a proper stepmother yet. Has she managed to bugger it up already? “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, dear.” Melody puts down her teacup. “Anything.”

“Well…” Bill fights back a smile. “There’s this girl.”

Oh thank heaven. It isn’t about her after all. Melody grins, leaning forward with interest. “Oh?”

“She’s called Heather and she works in a dress shop in town.” With a mournful sigh, Bill admits, “I fancy her something awful.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“I want her to like me back.” Bill leans forward suddenly, her eyes wide and hopeful. “How do you woo a girl? Like, how did my father court you?”

Melody laughs outright. “Well, first he insulted me. And then he flirted with me. Then he insulted me again. And this went on for nearly six months before he proposed and I turned him down. We’re hardly the map to follow, dear.”

With a groan, Bill sinks back into her chair. “You’re right. Stupid question.”

“Just be yourself,” Melody says, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “You’re clever and kind and beautiful. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

Bill beams at her. “Thanks, Melody.” She scrunches up her face. “Was my father really that awful at courting you?”

“Dreadful.” Melody winks. “It’s a wonder I said yes the second time he asked.”

Laughing, Bill wonders aloud, “How do you think he managed to get two women to marry him?”

Melody smiles, thinking briefly of her wayward husband all the way in London and the empty space beside her in bed she’s impatient for him to come back and fill. “He has his charms, once you get to know him. You know that.” She hesitates, glancing at Bill. She’s always been curious about John’s late wife but has never really had the courage to bring her up with him. “What was she like? His first wife?”

Bill shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s been gone a long time — way before he even adopted me.”

Picking up her teacup once more, Melody asks, “How old were you? When he took you in?”

Bill squints, thinking. “Nearly four.”

“He must have been terribly young then, when he lost her.” Melody sips her tea thoughtfully. “He never talks about her?”

Shaking her head, Bill says, “Not really. But Aunt Missy told me once it was one of those arranged marriages.” She shudders, frowning. “Sounds medieval.”

“Agreed,” Melody mutters, thinking briefly of Lady Kovarian’s machinations to marry John off to Madam Lem and her own aunt’s designs on Ramone Collins. “So… you’ve never had a mother?”

Staring at her hands, Bill says, “Never. Always wondered what it’d be like though.”

Melody bites her lip. _Oh, to hell with it._ “I know you’re quite grown up now and hardly need a mother any longer but…if you’d like to have one. Well, I’m here.”

Bill looks up then and a wide, relieved smile splits her face — as though she’s been waiting for Melody to say exactly those words. “I’d like that.”

-

Now that she’s married and lives miles and miles away in the Gallifreyan countryside, Melody doesn’t often visit her Aunt and Uncle. She sees Vastra and Jenny on a fairly regular basis when she accompanies John on business trips to London; she has tea with Amy every fortnight or so; she writes to Clara as she travels the world with her wife; Jack occasionally drops by Arcadia to spend a few weeks during the summer; and even Missy has taken to visiting every now and then. Coming back to Pond House, however, always fills her with dread. 

It isn’t Augustus’ fault — he’s as affable and mild-mannered as ever. Melody is always delighted to see her Uncle, who frequently greets her with a new book or a box of cigars and a wink. Even John has grown fond of him. They share the pile of newspapers Augustus always has at hand and grumble over the state of politics together.  As always, it’s Aunt Tabetha who makes these visits so deeply unpleasant. She doesn’t do it on purpose, of course. Melody tries to keep in mind the conversation she’d had with Augustus in his study when Amy caught a cold in pursuit of Rory Williams — Aunt Tabetha truly believes she’s only helping. It’s why she tries so hard to cling to her patience during these brief trips back to Leadworth. 

It isn’t _all_ terrible. Melody cherishes the quiet mornings at the breakfast table, only the rustle of crisp newspaper pages and the clink of spoons against china cups audible at this early hour. John sits beside her, stewing over his coffee and scanning an article about a recent military movement across the continent. His hand is warm and comforting on top of her thigh beneath the table, just out of view. 

Melody scoops out another bite of her grapefruit and allows herself to dwell on the long carriage ride ahead of them this afternoon back home to Arcadia. They’ll stop at an inn halfway there but John absolutely hates them and he’ll probably be insufferable about it. He’ll cheer up in the morning though, once he’s had a decent night’s sleep and the prospect of home and seeing Bill ahead of him. She thinks longingly of the privacy of their chambers; the comfort of a warm fire in the library with John’s head in her lap; the ride through the forest she’d promised Bill upon her return. 

“I suppose you’ve heard the delightful news?”

Tensing, Melody shakes off thoughts of home and lifts her head from her breakfast. Across the table, Aunt Tabetha wears a secret smile that instantly makes her meaning clear. Having spoken to Amy mere days ago, she braces herself for the conversation about to take place. If one can truly call talking with Aunt Tabetha a conversation. It usually feels more like an interrogation. 

As if feeling her sudden stiffness under his hand, John strokes his thumb soothingly across her thigh. Melody forces herself to relax, pasting on a smile. “News?” She asks, feigning ignorance just to watch Aunt Tabetha twitch. “What news?”

“About Amy.” Tabetha sighs impatiently, though the smile still doesn’t leave her face. She grips her teacup in white-knuckled hands and leans forward, as if she can’t contain her excitement. “She wrote to me just yesterday. It seems she and Rory are _expecting_.”

“Oh. That news.” Melody scoops out another bite of grapefruit and brings the spoon to her mouth. “Yes, she told me. It’s wonderful. She and Rory will make brilliant parents.”

“Of course, Amy was _always_ meant to be a mother. And Clara could have been wonderful but I suppose I can’t expect any grandchildren from her now.” Aunt Tabetha looks momentarily bereft at this before she shrugs and her smile returns once more. “But my Amy is going to make me a grandmother.”

In moments such as these, with her Aunt so overwhelmingly cheerful, Melody can’t help but share in her enthusiasm. Her smile is genuine as she says, “Congratulations, Aunt Tabetha.”

Tabetha beams at her but to Melody’s apprehension, it doesn’t take long for the smile to turn hesitant. Her guard goes up again as her Aunt ventures, “And… will you be sharing any similar happy news in the near future?”

Melody pauses, spoon halfway to her mouth, and shuts her eyes briefly. Why are the nice moments always so bloody short? Beside her, she feels John go still. It isn’t something they’ve discussed quite yet, with it still being relatively early days in their marriage. While Melody is still plenty young enough to have a child — or several, if she wishes — she hasn’t the faintest idea whether or not John actually wants any.  Leave it to Aunt Tabetha to broach the subject before Melody plucks up the courage to do it herself. 

She puts down her spoon and meets her Aunt’s hopeful stare. “I don’t really think that’s appropriate breakfast conversation, Aunt Tabetha,” she begins delicately. “Besides, any children I might have would make you a great aunt, not a grandmother.”

“Yes but that doesn’t mean I’m not looking forward to holding them all the same.” Aunt Tabetha sips at her tea, oblivious to Melody’s burning desire to change the subject. “You _will_ have children, won’t you? John needs an heir, Melody.”

She stiffens. “John has an heir. Remember his daughter, Bill?”

Beneath the table, John finally moves — squeezing her thigh in silent gratitude. 

“Of course.” Tabetha waves her away with a hand and for one blessed moment, Melody thinks she’s going to let the issue drop. “But she isn’t a _blood heir_ , dear. And it’s your duty to bear your husband sons and daughters-”

Beside her, John drops the newspaper that Melody suspects he hasn’t actually been reading since Aunt Tabetha broached the topic at hand. He turns his glare on Aunt Tabetha, who falls blissfully silent at the look on his face. “Perhaps I should make a few things clear to you, Mrs. Pond. The first is this: my daughter doesn’t need my blood in her veins to be my child. Secondly, I must ask that you stop talking about my wife like she’s some kind of broodmare.”

Tabetha presses a hand to her chest. “I wasn’t-”

“Not finished yet,” John interrupts sharply. “Melody is my partner. My equal in all things. We make decisions together. If we choose to have children, it will be because we’ve both decided it’s what we want and not because she’s somehow obligated to pop out an army of little hellions so I can stroke my ego by giving them my name.” His mouth thins into a stern, unyielding line of disdain. His eyes burn into Aunt Tabetha and Melody wonders how she hasn’t been reduced to a smoking scorch mark on the fabric of her chair. “And that decision, whenever we decide to make it, will not in any way whatsoever _involve you_. So if you would be so kind as to stop badgering my wife at the breakfast table and go back to your tea, I think we’d all be much obliged.”

Aunt Tabetha stares at him in wordless silence for a long moment. No one at the table moves. Melody doesn’t dare turn to look at her Uncle but she can’t even hear him _breathing_. Finally, when Melody thinks her Aunt is going to implode and her Uncle will pass out from lack of air, Tabetha _smiles_. “You’re so right, John dear. That was terribly thoughtless of me.” She glances at Melody, pouting playfully. “Forgive me, dear?”

Melody snaps her gaping mouth shut and nods once. “…Of course.”

Satisfied, Aunt Tabetha returns to her tea with a hum. 

Very slowly, Melody turns her head and exchanged an astonished, awed glance with her Uncle. Augustus looks to John, as though gazing upon a deity come to earth, and asks, “Do you _have_ to leave?”

John allows a small smirk to curl his mouth but he has eyes only for Melody. She blinks back tears, fighting the urge to throw her arms around him right in front of her relatives. No one has ever stood up to Aunt Tabetha for her before, at least not so thoroughly. Amy and Clara had often tried to distract their mother when she focused her criticism on Melody; Augustus mostly hid behind his newspaper unless absolutely necessary. But not John. 

In that moment, Melody loves him so fiercely she can hardly bear it. With a watery smile, she mouths: _Thank you_. John winks at her and when no one is looking, he takes her hand and lifts it to his mouth for a tender, secret kiss. Linking their fingers together beneath the table, Melody stares down at her breakfast and swallows a smile. 

It’s a long ride to the inn this afternoon. Perhaps they’ll have that talk. 

-

Sneaking away from a party in someone else’s home used to be a favorite pastime of Melody’s in her youth. Ballroom dancing and gossip in secluded corners had only kept her occupied for so long before she’d been itching for an escape. She’d come to know all the best hiding places — where Lord Chesterton kept his best scotch, where Mrs. Owen’s cook stashed the best biscuits, which floor of the Lethbridge Manor had the best view of the grounds. She’d expected that once she married and became known as Mrs. John Smith that she would have to act like a proper lady and these little explorations would cease. To her absolute delight, however, her husband seems to know a few hiding places of his own. 

His hand grips her tightly as he tugs her through increasingly empty corridors, further and further away from the revelry in the ballroom. Melody bites her lip but it’s impossible to conceal her glee as John makes his way through Lady Martha’s house like he owns it — or better yet, like he’s done this before. “All your talk of me being an improper match,” she says, positively giddy. “And look at you — dragging your wife away from a party to have your way with her in a stranger’s house.”

John scoffs. “Martha is hardly a stranger.”

It’s a weak defense and he knows it, judging by the way he refuses to meet her gaze. Melody laughs and lets him guide her up a set of stairs. “Face it, darling. You may have had the advantage of more money and better breeding but it did your manners no favors.”

Finally coming to a stop outside a heavy wooden door, John pushes it open to reveal a small library. He turns his head to study her with a raised brow. “Are you complaining, wife?”

“Depends,” she says, sweeping past him into the room. She perches on the arm of an overstuffed chair, arranging her skirts around her and fixing her husband with an interested look. “Have you brought me here to read or did you have something else in mind?”

“Why?” John shuts the door with a smirk and the extra barrier immediately muffles the sounds of the party downstairs. “Is there something you want? There was mention of me having my way with you, if I remember.”

“Did I?” Melody frowns, struggling to hide the mirth in her eyes. “I can’t recall.”

“Allow me to remind you, my dear.” 

John crosses the space between them in two quick strides, capturing her hand in his and tugging her back on her feet. She’s in his arms between one breath and the next, his hands on her waist to guide her backward. Melody thinks briefly of making a joke about dancing but her back collides with a row of bookshelves behind her and all thoughts of anything but John crowding her close flee her mind entirely.  He cages her in with a hand pressed against the shelves on either side of her head, trapping her quite effectively. He smells of books and the forest behind Arcadia — like home and everything good about it. His eyes are dark and focused rather distractingly on her mouth. Melody can scarcely breathe as his nose brushes hers, his voice a low murmur. 

“Ringing any bells yet?”

She swallows and shakes her head, shamelessly pressing herself against him and tipping up her chin expectantly. Her eyes find his, wide and wanting. “Give me another clue?”

With a groan, John ducks his head and kisses her hungrily. He tastes like champagne and Melody curls her fingers around the nape of his neck, determined to keep him close. One might think after a while and with frequent exposure, a husband’s kisses might grow a bit dull but he still weakens her knees every time. His mouth is hot and eager against her own, leaving her breathless. She sighs against his lips, feeling John’s hand caress its way up her bodice. 

“Oh yes,” she laughs, eyes fluttering open. “Now I remember.”

John chuckles, bending to mouth ardently at her throat. She’s just about to chide him about leaving marks when his wandering hand finds her breast and squeezes, stealing her voice again. She moans, turning her head and seeking out his mouth once more. John pauses in the middle of lifting his head to kiss her and she watches in a daze as a slow smile curls his mouth. 

“What?”

He reaches behind her, plucking a book from the shelf and displaying the cover to her before she can complain about him wanting to read _now_ of all moments. _Paradise Lost_. “My first apology,” he says, eyeing the cover fondly. 

“Is that what you call it?” Melody clears her throat, still feeling rather warm beneath her bodice. “Most people use their words instead of gifts.”

John scoffs. “Most people are dull.”

Melody laughs, taking the book from him to flick idly through the pages. Her own copy is worn from use and littered with notes in the margins now but this one is still in pristine condition. “I carried it with me everywhere for months, you know. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t put it down. At the time I told myself it was because it was the nicest volume I owned but I spent an awful lot of time stroking the cover and wondering which bits you liked best.” She lifts her eyes to meet his stare, smirking. “I thought about your hands turning the pages.”

With a waggle of his brows, John plucks the book from her and returns it to the shelf. “Speaking of my hands -” She feels his fingers inching up her skirts and laughs again, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in to kiss her softly. 

“Cad,” she tells him, even as she pulls him closer. 

Bunching her skirts in one hand and stroking his fingertips up her thigh, John reminds her, “You married me.”

Melody grins, peppering his jaw with open-mouthed little kisses. “Lucky for you, I happen to like cads.”

“You may like all the cads you wish, my dear. But you’re only permitted to love _one_.” He presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, the sweet gesture entirely at war with the rough hand stroking between her thighs. She stifles a moan, her head falling back to rest against the bookshelf behind her, eyes fluttering shut. John trails his mouth over her flushed cheek, murmuring, “My Melody…”

“Yours,” she whispers. “John-”

The sound of the door opening shatters their illusion of privacy and Melody gasps, eyes snapping open. John has time for little else but to settle her back on her feet and turn, shielding her from any prying eyes as she struggles to adjust her skirts. She doesn’t look up but she feels John’s tense shoulders relax as he growls out, “Can’t you knock?”

Missy rolls her eyes and clasps her hands under her chin, feigning supplication. “Ever so sorry, thought I was walking into a library and not a honeymoon suite.”

John sighs, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Melody is decent before he moves away. Melody presses a reassuring hand between his shoulder blades, stepping out from behind him with a careless little wave at his sister. It’s hardly the first time Missy has caught them in a compromising position. She long ago learned that the less bothered she is about it, the less Missy will mock her for it. 

Allowing Melody to straighten his cravat, John levels his sister with an irritated glance. “What do you want?”

Missy lounges in the doorway, her smile bordering on guilty. “Teensy problem. Someone — possibly me, possibly someone who just looks like me — may have spiked the punch and forgot to tell Bill.”

John curses under his breath, eyes narrowing. “How much has she had?”

Missy grimaces. “Enough to make a mess of the rosebushes if we don’t pack it in now.”

“Oh for-” John pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling to rein in his temper. “Why would you-”

“Best not wander down that particular labyrinth, darling.” Hiding a smile, Melody pats his arm. She glances at Missy. “Fetch Nardole from the stables and tell him to ready the carriage. We’ll handle Bill.”

With a bow that’s probably meant to be insulting, Missy steps out of the room and they’re alone once more. John drops his hand and sighs, offering her a despairing glance. “Is she ever going to change?”

Melody leads him patiently toward the door. “I certainly hope not. Things would be ever so dull.” 

They find their way back to the party downstairs just long enough to make their excuses to their hostess but Martha Jones smiles at them like she isn’t fooled for a moment. “Take care of poor Bill,” she says, and fixes John with a playfully scolding glare. “And keep a better eye on your sister next time, won’t you?”

Looking chastised, John mutters a promise about replacing the rosebushes. 

They find Bill already outside, sitting on the front steps and clutching her stomach. She doesn’t even look up, face twisted into a nauseated grimace. “Look at that,” Melody whispers. “Our girl’s first bender.”

John offers her a withering, unimpressed glance. He sheds his coat, moving to sit on the steps beside his daughter and wrapping it around her slumped shoulders. The night air is chilly and Bill huddles gratefully beneath the heavy fabric. “How’re you feeling?”

“Rubbish,” she mumbles. “This is what drinking is like? Never doing it again.”

“I’d like that in writing when we get home, if you don’t mind.” John pauses, watching Melody take her spot on the other side of Bill to rub soothing circles over the girl’s back. “What have we told you about these parties?”

Bill purses her lips, looking pained. “Never take anything Aunt Missy gives me.”

He arches a brow at her. “Perhaps you’ll remember in future now, hmm?” 

Bill glares weakly. “Thought communal punch was safe enough.”

“Nothing is ever safe when your Aunt is on the loose,” he points out. “You know better.”

Melody brushes her stepdaughter’s hair back from her clammy face and the girl looks so pathetic and so ill that she cannot allow this scolding to go on a moment longer. “Oh hush, darling. As though you never overindulged at her age.” She gives her husband an exasperated glance and nudges Bill gently. “I’ll make you some tea when we get home. How’s that?”

Bill nods, leaning into her with another groan. “Will I feel better tomorrow?”

John snorts.

“Oh, my poor girl.” Melody holds her close, stifling a smile as she strokes her dark hair. “Not at all.”

Bill whimpers, curling further into her. The three of them sit there on the steps while they wait for Nardole and Missy to return with the carriage, huddled together for warmth. The sounds of the party drift outside through the windows, laughter and music and loud voices all mingling together. Melody hums a soft tune for Bill, something quiet and soothing Amy used to sing to her when she was ill. 

She feels a familiar, strong hand curl possessively around the nape of her neck, squeezing in silent gratitude. She looks up, meeting her husband’s gaze over Bill’s head. Warmth fills her at the tenderness she sees in his eyes when he looks at her and she smiles, overcome with the very same emotion she sees reflected in his eyes. It’s rather wonderful to be a part of a family — especially this one. 

-

As mistress of Arcadia, Melody had been given her own bedroom, dressing room, and sitting room. Most would see this as a tremendous honor, considering not many women are given the luxury of such privacy. Her chambers are filled with crystal vases of fresh flowers, plush carpets, velvet chaise lounges, and the finest silk gowns. She hardly notices, preferring to spend the majority of her time in her husband’s chambers. 

Having spent the years since his late wife passed living quite a solitary existence apart from Bill, John never complains about her desire to remain with him. In fact, he seems to relish the way Melody never enters her chambers unless to change and even then, he frequently follows her to watch. He’s utterly shameless about his desire for her and Melody delights in encouraging him. The servants — and poor Bill — have learned to knock before entering any room they happen to be in. 

“Have I told you how fetching you look in my shirt?”

Melody turns from the window in their bedroom, where she’d been admiring the sparkle of the morning sun on the lake. Still looking half-asleep, John lays sprawled across their bed as he watches her from beneath hooded eyes. Plucking at the loose fitting tunic that covers her only to mid-thigh, Melody says, “You think I look fetching in everything.”

He smirks. “Is it my fault that happens to be true?”

“Sap,” she murmurs fondly, abandoning the window in favor of her husband. “You’d best get out of bed. Jack is due to arrive this afternoon.”

“You climbing back into bed with me is hardly encouragement to get up,” he grumbles, reaching out to caress her bare leg as she slides over him to her side of the bed. “Get back over here and let me ravish you.”

“What a request.” Melody presses a hand to her chest, feigning shock. “Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, sir?”

He hums, curling his arm around her waist and tugging her toward him as she puts in a token effort at resistance. They really should be getting out of bed. “Only if you’re a lady. And after last night, I think we both know you’re far from it.”

Choking on laughter, Melody swats at his chest and pushes him away. “Cad.” She pins him to the mattress, holding his wrists above his head as she straddles his hips. “I’ve a mind to punish you by leaving this bed at once.”

John waggles his brows at her, clearly biting back a smirk. “Well go on then. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Very well.” Melody wriggles just so, letting him feel her bare and warm beneath his tunic. With a groan, John rolls his hips against her and his hands strain against her hold. She stops at once, moving to climb off him. “See you in the dining room for breakfast then?”

He moves quickly, catching her around the waist and dragging her back into bed with him as Melody shrieks with laughter. Rolling her beneath him, John grins widely down at her and says, “I intend to work up an appetite before breakfast if you don’t mind, wife.”

“I’ll allow it.” She reaches for him, grasping him around the back of the neck and tugging him down to her. He crushes his mouth to hers with sigh, his hand slipping beneath the tunic she wears to caress her bare skin. She moans, arching into his touch. “John-”

“Shh.” He mouths at her neck. “I’d quite like to be able to look my daughter in the eye at breakfast this morning.”

Stifling laughter, Melody shakes her head. “Not to worry, sweetie. She told me last night she was going horseback riding with Heather for the day. I don’t think we’ll see either of them before dinner.”

He brightens. “An entire day to ourselves? Perhaps we should banish the servants and-”

Melody bites her lip, nails digging into his shoulder blades as his hands wander. “We can’t. Jack will be here in the afternoon, my love.”

“Bugger. I forgot.” He sighs, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. “Sorry, pet.”

The disappointment at losing a quiet day with her is clear in his voice and it makes her smile. She’d told Amy frequently over the years that nothing but the deepest love could convince her to marry — someone who was a partner to her in all things; someone who made her laugh and knew all her secrets; someone unafraid of her independence and who could match her in a disagreement. She had waited for such a partner for a long time, rejecting suitors who didn’t meet her standards and even those who were perfect on paper but for whom she felt nothing in her heart.  She had endured her Aunt Tabetha’s many and varied scoldings. She had allowed herself to be looked down upon with pity by those who thought she would pass her life as an old maid in the house of one of her married cousins. Still, she had never settled. There had never been a guarantee that John Smith would come along one day and charm her with his quick smile and dry wit, the way he looks at her like he’s glad he never settled either. She had waited anyway. And if this is her reward for that, Melody has a newfound appreciation for patience. 

“I’m sorry too.” She squirms beneath him, wrapping a leg around his waist. “But I do wish you wouldn’t call me _pet_. It’s what my Uncle calls Aunt Tabetha and I’d rather not think of her when we’re like this.”

John laughs, stroking his palm over her ribcage. “And what shall I call you then? Care to provide me a list of wife-approved names?”

Melody beams. “Happy to, darling.”

“Speaking of names…” John tugs aside the neck of her shirt to nip at her shoulder. “I like that one.”

“Oh, I know.” She brushes her knee between his legs to make her point and John curses under his breath. Laughing, she takes pity on him and runs her fingers soothingly through his hair. “I should like to be called _my dear_ for everyday use, _love_ when we’re in bed like this, and _goddess divine_ on special occasions.”

Chuckling, John lifts his head to meet her playful stare. “And what about when I’m cross with you? Mrs. Smith?”

“Absolutely not.” Melody frowns, scratching her nails softly at the nape of his neck and feeling John shudder at the touch. “I only want to be called Mrs. Smith when you’re completely, utterly, indecently happy.”

Eyes soft, John brushes the curls from her eyes and takes her face between his hands. “Well then,” he says quietly. “Good morning, Mrs. Smith.”

A smile blooms across her face and her eyes flutter shut as John dips his head to kiss her flushed cheeks. _Mrs. Smith_. His mouth trails tenderly down the bridge of her nose. _Mrs. Smith_. He ducks his head, pausing reverently before pressing his lips to the gentle swell of her stomach. Melody beams up at the ceiling as he whispers, _Mrs. Smith_. He moves back up but his hand remains on her growing belly, the delight in his eyes bright enough to match hers. His mouth hovers teasingly over her own, warm and curled into a wide grin. _Mrs. Smith_. Their lips meet and Melody sighs, sinking with him into the rumpled sheets of their bed. 

No one has ever been happier. 


End file.
